It Lies In Weakness
by Mistiec
Summary: No one could truly understand why the devil in angel's clothing, suddenly became a guardian angel in Lucifer's guise. (IrinaSpyfam)
1. I Coming To Terms

It Lies In Weakness By Misty Flores  
  
Rating: PG-13 for now.  
  
Genre: Alias, Irina/SpyFamily Spoilers: SIII  
  
Teaser: No one could truly understand why the devil in angel's clothing, suddenly became a guardian angel in Lucifer's guise. When questioned in the aftermath, Jack Bristow's only explanation was a clipped, 'Never underestimate the love for a daughter'.  
  
Author's Notes: In taking requests on what to write as my last story before I retire from fan fiction altogether, it was suggested that I try an Alias fan fiction, given the fact that I've recently become quite obsessed. As a result, I have less than a week to finish this story before the retirement deadline, not easy, considering a) I've never written Alias before, and b) this looks like a multipart arc.  
  
I hope you enjoy.  
  
--  
  
I. Coming to Terms  
  
They were her greatest weakness.  
  
There was a harder, colder part of Irina that whispered in her thoughts, dominated her will and her mind. For so long she had listened, counted on her darker self. That aspect kept her alive, existing as slowly, bit by bit, her humanity leaked out.  
  
Perhaps that was why she waited nearly thirty years before pushing herself back into their lives. Her hope that her humanity would have faded completely was well founded. Killing was simply taking a life. There was something incredibly robotic about her capacity for numbness, her lack of compassion. Laura Bristow was truly dead. Just the realization alone should have been enough to push through her illusions, her foolish and stupid hopes that her daughter would remember, attempt to understand.  
  
Sydney was young, impulsive, but the Intel Irina had received revealed her to be a surprisingly human spy, with a penchant for mistakes, and a heart that seemed permanently broken. The darker part of Irina would have exploited that, did exploit it.  
  
The humanity that apparently, had not died as first suspected, hated her for it.  
  
Even as the smallest hope burgeoned in Irina's heart, that somehow she could make Sydney understand how things were, she held little expectation for the same from the father. Jack was a man of passion, and he hated as viciously as he loved. She knew to say he hated her would have been tactful, almost understating things. Because he had always been the best lover she had ever known.  
  
She had made a fool of him, broken his heart in the process, and murdered his colleagues while he loved her - lesser men would have killed her on sight.  
  
Jack had the discipline to merely set her up, let the government do it their way. He would have succeeded in killing her had Sydney not intervened.  
  
It would have been his ultimate act of vengeance. In truth, she admired him for it. For Irina to die knowing that her daughter would believe she tried to kill her, that almost came close to what she did to him.  
  
Irina herself never faulted for patience.  
  
She had spent years of her life waiting, forcing herself to believe, constantly reminding herself that Laura Bristow would eventually die. A few months in a cage were nothing.  
  
In a dark cell, a ridiculous mimic of Hannibal Lector, Irina took her amusement where she could get it, faced her demons, and laid eyes on the daughter that she could never deny, was indeed hers.  
  
This girl, with the striking features and cold gestures, stubborn nature, brown hair - was hers, not Laura Bristow's.  
  
It almost sickened her, the warmth that seeped through her at the realization.  
  
In her dealings, in her inevitable match up with Sydney's father, her weakness became absurdly apparent.  
  
Every glance at Jack sprung a thousand memories, smiles and laughter, and the hardness began to melt into an ache, a yearning.  
  
A flash of a Christmas Eve, holding a cup of hot chocolate and watching with a frozen smile as her ruthless CIA agent husband tromped on the floor, a giggling little girl that had her eyes, her smile, clinging happily to his back.  
  
A whisper of a kiss on her earlobe as he wrapped arms around her waist, laughing as little Sydney wore an absurdly large apron that nearly made her trip, expression on her face showing her revulsion as her mother told her matter-of-fact exactly where she was putting the stuffing into the bird.  
  
And she hated herself. She hated her weakness. She hated her yearning.  
  
Even in her cell, staring at him through a wall of glass, she could almost believe her own intentions, could lie glibly and believe it was the truth. That Rambaldi didn't exist, that she was simply here to pay her retribution, reclaim her life as Laura Bristow.  
  
When his eyes began to warm to her, when Sydney began to smile, her weakness nearly consumed her.  
  
Ten years of fabricated love battled with nearly forty years of Russian Intelligence training that night in Panama. Two halves of a whole battled for the soul of a woman who now found herself not only a killer, but a mother, a wife - things she never knew she missed until Jack's lips slid along the column of her throat.  
  
He never called her Laura. He was too smart for that. His groans and whispers were dedicated to Irina, and in that, she felt her resolve weaken. Jack did not know her, but like this, clutching about his shoulders as he thrust, groaned and arched hips and drove deeper, she very nearly believed he was the only one who came close.  
  
It was too easy to believe that she and Sydney and Jack could be what they were when she was Laura Bristow. Their lives were seeped in lies, but there could be no secrets between the three of them.  
  
A husband. A daughter. A love that had managed to nurture in her heart even as the darkness consumed everything else in her life.  
  
She nearly fooled herself into believing it could work.  
  
But they were what they always were. Weaknesses.  
  
Irina had no room for such things in her life. There were so many grudges, so many threats - the moment she allowed the darkness to recede she would not only lose her life, but Sydney and Jack's as well.  
  
She knew too well how many would kill the loves of Irina Derevko. It was a weakness anyone could detect, especially those with no rules.  
  
She herself had long ago abandoned morality.  
  
Acknowledgement of her weaknesses gave way to fear, the dominant emotion that allowed the darkness to take control, seep inside her, mock her.  
  
She fulfilled her mission. She betrayed the CIA. She left Jack and left Sydney, abandoning Laura Bristow once more.  
  
The hardened, darker aspect of Irina proudly whispered that they would move on, forget, succeed where they had not in twenty years. This weakness would not get the better of her. She would beat it, like she had beaten everything else that created an obstacle.  
  
Her weakness had been grossly underestimated. It gnawed at her.  
  
It nearly resulted in her death, as she sought out Sydney time after time, nearly trapped herself in a building wired with explosives because she feared for her daughter.  
  
It was what she had become. She had always known it was true, but it had always been forced as a passing thought, trapped in her memories the way Jack had been, unlocked only if she wished to revisit the pain.  
  
Now, she could not forget as easily - she could not forget at all. Above all else, Irina Derevko was a mother.  
  
Only a mother could forgive a daughter who shot her in the shoulder, an ironic deja vu of her own desperate attempt to keep her daughter alive minutes into the first meeting they shared in twenty years.  
  
Only a mother could love her all the more for it.  
  
She would never have Jack and Sydney - her choices had been made.  
  
She regretted them.  
  
She lost her daughter before she ever gave her a proper kiss, had shot her, elbowed her in the face, broken her trust and garnered her hate.  
  
She had managed to find her way into the embrace of a man who had given her ten years of love, shared one night of passion, only to betray him the next day.  
  
Fractured, broken, and filled with deceit, Irina should have accepted her darkness, welcomed it as a long lost security blanket.  
  
But her weaknesses were fatal, and they consumed her, and Irina now found, she no longer cared.  
  
-- 


	2. II Dealing With the Devil

II. Dealing with the Devil  
  
He caught up with her in a little café on the outskirts of Vienna, put a dart into the guard waiting outside, slipped a sleeping draught in the coffee of the one sitting two tables away. She expected nothing less. With a lurch in her chest and an easy smile on her face, she let him approach.  
  
Less than five minutes later, he had crashed into a delicate table, shards of glass splintering around him. Crowds of people gasped at the sight of the woman with the blazing eyes, tumultuous hair, staring down at the man sprawled on the floor, blood streaming from his nose.  
  
She had absolutely no rational explanation as to why she chose to blame him upon hearing the news. If Irina had taken the time to remove her emotions, consider the situation clearly, she would not have hit Jack Bristow.  
  
At the moment she was not capable of rational thought. She simply wanted to kill him.  
  
"You were supposed to take care of her," she managed, seconds before her eyes began to burn, and her heart raced inside of her, pounding against her chest. She could not think of Sydney, could not consider placing her face into her mind, even as the softer part of herself begged to be allowed to remember one smile, one laugh.  
  
Earlier that year, she had admitted to herself, to her daughter, that she loved Jack Bristow.  
  
Now, she would have gladly taken the knife from beneath her shirt, and stabbed him through the heart.  
  
It was an altogether emotional reaction from a woman known her impassive cruelty, and if the outburst was unexpected, Jack did not show it.  
  
A waiter came forward, babbling in Austrian, palms gesturing emphatically.  
  
"It's all right," Jack responded, smiling as best he could, voice tinny and distorted from the redness that seeped from behind his hand, waving off the Good Samaritans who tried to help him up. "It's all right. I'm fine."  
  
A spark in her subconscious warned against making a scene. She knew better than that. Jack was being smart, trying to ward off the attention from the crowds at her very violent reaction. She understood that. Irina was simply past caring.  
  
"You were supposed to take care of her," she whispered again. Fingers curled in unmistakable fists, glare so ferocious that even the babbling waiter found himself pausing for breath.  
  
"Irina, this is not the place to discuss this." Jack's tone was easy, calm. With a methodical easiness she found maddening, he reached for the white cloth napkin lay flopped on the ground next to her overturned table, and gently placed it on his nose. "I approached you here because I didn't think you would want attention called to you-"  
  
His meticulous callousness nearly drove her to attack him again. Sydney was gone. Sydney was gone, her beautiful daughter with so much love and forgiveness in her heart, and Jack was concerned with making a scene?  
  
"If this is not the place, then you should not have told me here," she whispered harshly.  
  
"It's allright, everyone, my wife and I will pay for the damages. It's just a little spat," Jack announced, forcing a smile on his face as he folded bills into the frazzled waiter's palm, perfect Austrian rolling off his tongue. Moving closer, Jack's glare was now set on her, plastic grin holding his expression as he switched to an effortless Japanese. "Now, dear, perhaps we can find another place-"  
  
"My daughter is dead, Jack! There is no other place!"  
  
"Sydney is not dead."  
  
It was enough to bring reality to a halt. A choking sob caught her words in her throat, and her eyes, wide and dripping with tears that she did not notice until the cold Vienna air hit the salty moisture on her skin, bore into his own.  
  
Her daughter was her weakness, her daughter was her life, and she understood just how her preoccupation with her daughter's death could cause her own destruction when Jack smiled, a gun suddenly placed underneath her coat, muzzle pressed up against her side.  
  
He cocked it with a barely audible click.  
  
"Calm down," he instructed, low and soft in her ear. "Irina, listen to me. We cannot afford to have you make this more difficult. Do not resort to old habits. There are things I need to explain to you, but we can NOT do this out in the open."  
  
A cacophony of emotions that had flooded through her body in a matter of minutes left behind a quiet woman. Jack's tone, methodic and urgent, brought back the rational mind, and it battled with her instinct - the image of her daughter burned and mutilated in her home.  
  
Around them, people began to speak, whisper. Two feet away, her bodyguard was beginning to stir.  
  
With a low, quiet, civil tone, she turned to her husband, cocking her head with a loving glance. "Unless the explanation satisfies me, Jack darling, I will kill you for the pain you have caused me."  
  
It was a double-standard. After all, she herself was responsible for the death of his wife, whom she knew he had dearly loved. The hypocrisy was not lost on her. Judging by the half smile, the blazing anger in Jack's beautiful orbs, it was quite clear it was not lost on him, either.  
  
But she meant every word.  
  
"Meet me tonight," he whispered. "I'll phone you with the rendezvous-"  
  
"Impossible," she said glibly. "I do not trust you, Jack. We will meet according to my terms."  
  
"Because I have any reason to trust you?"  
  
Her glance was riddled in steel. "You sought me out, Jack. Not the other way around. I have no intention of hurting you at all, you knew that the moment you found me here."  
  
His chin clamped, strong features made even more defined by the frustrated gesture. There was nothing he could say to that. His loving wife knew him too well.  
  
Only a small smile detected her smugness before it slipped, and she moved away from the gun, allowing him time to readjust the weapon so it hung out of sight before turning toward him. Palms carefully slid up the trench coat, and in a role that was almost too easy to slip back into, she played the loving wife, adjusting his collar, staring deeply into his eyes. With an apologetic smile, she replaced the bloody napkin with a fresh one, gently wiping at the blood.  
  
"Get out of here, I will call you."  
  
For the benefit of the audience, he leaned forward, and once again, she felt the feather light brush of a kiss from Jack's lips.  
  
Her weakness for his touch was difficult to hide. Her breath was almost ragged as she pushed him away, just as her second guard crashed through the crowd.  
  
"What happened?" he demanded, glaring at the waiters and the manager, all who irately waited their turn to share their grievances at being the unfortunate hosts of Jack and Irina's latest marriage spat.  
  
Leaning down, Irina gathered her bag and slipped on her sun glasses, offering Antonio a grim shrug.  
  
"I tripped."  
  
--  
  
He found her in the back room of a tavern in Ireland, sitting on a rickety wooden bench, palms wrapped daintily around a large mug of something unmistakably alcoholic.  
  
"Good evening," she said softly. "Nose is better, I hope." As usual, Jack had no expression. Dressed in his trademark suit, he seemed unchangeable: an intimidating man with a glower that could freeze anyone.  
  
And yet, for ten years, she had been the one with the key to melting his heart, to the point where she could make him burn.  
  
The thought put a smile on her face, and she welcomed it. Since his appearance in Vienna, it was all she could do to keep from going insane, heading back to Los Angeles on the first flight, CIA be damned, to find the truth about her daughter. Her obsession with Sydney, she found, was only nearly matched by two others: Rambaldi, shaken once her daughter had been lost, and Jack Bristow, who was standing in this room, not attempting to kill her.  
  
Well, she amended. Not yet.  
  
"Come in." She was polite enough, motioning to the empty chair beside her with a graceful sweep of her palm.  
  
"Interesting place," he said finally, adjusting his grip on his briefcase and coming forward, closing the door behind him. His nose wrinkled at the smell, and it caused a smirk on her face, nearly hidden when she took another drink.  
  
"It has its purposes."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"It's safe, for one," she answered matter-of-factly, implication clear. No one here was loyal to the CIA, and while Irina could not say they were loyal to her, the tavern owners knew very well who she was, what she was capable of. An awkward silence that passed, much too slowly.  
  
Irina was a subtle woman. She never demanded, she never gave ultimatums or threats - she simply asked. Sometimes nicely. The consequences then, were always then the fault of the person being questioned. If they chose not to cooperate, she made them understand why they should.  
  
But she never demanded.  
  
At this moment, she wondered, as another mouthful of burning alcohol seared her stomach, how long she would last before she fell on her knees and begged Jack for information concerning Sydney.  
  
Licking her lips, she brought down her drink, taking in a short, hasty breath before glancing up to meet his gaze. "I assume, since you have not tried to kill me, you have something you would like to discuss?"  
  
"Do you love our daughter?" The answer was direct, to the point. Pure Jack. "If you lie, I'll know."  
  
Silent for a moment, she shook her head slightly. "You may find this hard to believe, but I swore after ... " her eyes flickered to him, and he glared, almost daring her to say it. She chuckled grimly, glancing away. "... certain events that I would not lie to you again. I never did, concerning Sydney."  
  
"You're right. I find that hard to believe."  
  
"I love my daughter, Jack," she whispered.  
  
Finally, his bitterness made an appearance. A low, grim laugh that made her shake her head as well. Reaching beside her, she found the bottle she had saved, locating his brand and sliding it across the table to his fingertips. "Your love is not worth much, Irina."  
  
It would have stung, had she not been consumed with thoughts of Sydney.  
  
"Is this your payment, then?" she asked quietly. "Making me sit here, near panic, broken hearted at the news of the death of my daughter, while you toy with me?" He glanced at her, glare impassive. "Would you have me beg, Jack?"  
  
His smile faded. "No," he said finally, pushing the beer away and shifting in his seat. "I'm here because if you love your daughter, then you're the only one that can help me."  
  
Irina could not make sense of that. Fingers fell away from her cup, and her eyes narrowed in intensity. "I do not understand."  
  
"You've been out of the country a good long while, Irina, I know you haven't kept track. You would have found out sooner, had you kept in touch- "  
  
Irina blinked, looking away. He held no accusation in his tone, but it did not assuage the bitterness that sank into her belly. "I could not endanger Sydney by attempting to keep contact, I assumed that with you there to take care of her, she would eventually forget me and-"  
  
"I know." His clipped assurance made her swallow, as a briefcase clapped on the wooden table and he released the clasps. "Sydney is alive, Irina."  
  
"How can you be so certain?" she whispered. He pulled out a tape, black and ominous, unmarked. Her glance was unsure. "What is that?"  
  
"It's proof. No one will help me, they've all given up on her. But if you love her. If any part of her mother loved her for more than the ten years you pretended to love me, then you will help me."  
  
It was a challenge, and yet, it was something else. Something she never expected to hear from Jack.  
  
It was a plea.  
  
A desperate man was capable of so much. Even strike a deal with the devil, his personal incarnation of all that was evil. He had hated her for so long. Had this been any other time, she had no doubt he would have tried to kill her. And yet, here they were, being polite and civil.  
  
She took a moment to gather her words, tried so very hard to say them without slipping. "You're wrong," she clipped. His mouth dropped, and his hand began to fall, when she suddenly continued, "I never pretended to love you. That emotion was quite real. For you and for Sydney. It was the one thing I did not lie to you about. Even if I lied to myself."  
  
That confession left him at a loss for words, and later, Irina would tell herself that that was its purpose.  
  
"Working with me could get you arrested."  
  
"I don't care."  
  
They shared a glance. Any other time, she would have described it as smoldering, remnants of passion that refused to fade to anything lower than a soft simmer.  
  
But that was not what this glance was. It was a glance between a wife and her husband, parents who desperately loved their daughter above all else.  
  
Nothing else mattered.  
  
"Show me the tape."  
  
-- 


	3. III Sleeping with the Enemy

**III. Sleeping with the Enemy**

Her fingers wrapped around the gun hidden in the holster underneath the table the second she heard the rattle of the hinges. 

Leaning further back into her chair, Irina Derevko's expression revealed nothing, eyes narrowed sharply against the intruder, watching as the door shook slightly, before it eased open. 

The gun fit easily in her palm, steady and straight as it pointed directly into the path of the intruder, right where his face would be in just a few short seconds. 

Her breath was slow, even, every pulse in her body was in tune to her hand, just a slip of a finger, and he would be dead- 

She was squeezing the trigger when a gray head came into view, and her breath suddenly became erratic, a low gasp emerging when she recognized her visitor. 

Jack Bristow, arms full with two paper bags, gave a jerk in her direction, mouth opening slightly at the sight of her and her gun. 

With a relieved sigh, she adjusted the safety, bringing her hand down and quickly depositing the weapon back in its slot. "You're late." 

"Lovely to see you too, Irina," he retorted pleasantly. "Is that how you always treat your guests?" 

"Six months and you have yet to learn not to sneak up on me?" she retorted, palm smoothing up the column of her neck to massage the muscles at the nape. 

"I hardly call using the key you gave me 'sneaking'," he said. 

Wonderful. He was late and cracking jokes. She had been worried sick, nearly blew his head off, and he seemed to think it was perfectly all right to be appropriately sarcastic. 

Jack wore a grim expression, posture stiff as he held his bags. It only took a quick glance to understand. There was no news. 

Six months and no closer to finding their daughter. 

Shit. 

The small moment of peace that came with the sight of Jack, alive and still free, dissipated with a flood of turmoil. There was nothing. Her daughter was alive, roaming the world, murdering and operational, and there was nothing they could find to track her down. 

"Nothing, then?" Her tone was more final than inquisitive. Brown eyes locking with his, her glance was almost pleading, hoping against hope he would contradict her. 

But Jack only sank down in her leather armchair, fingers rubbing against his temple as he let out a ragged sigh. "Nothing. Whoever it was was already gone when I got there." An invisible weight around his shoulders made them droop. 

Was this the proud man she had married, so many years ago? Brought to his knees over a child? 

Irina pushed away the traitorous thought almost immediately. KGB programming - damned effective. Even now, she acutely, unconsciously, catalogued his weaknesses, assessed them, filed them away as a possible means to break him. 

Was she truly the devil then? 

"I'll get you a drink," she managed. Pushing off the armchair, she wove around the desk, stopping at the bar to pull out a glass. 

It was almost frightening, how easy it was to fall into this pattern, pretend they were partners instead of mortal enemies. Jack never forgot who she was, what she was capable of, but Irina did hold the same discipline with him. He was a weakness, and she understood that. It still made it no less difficult to remember that the moment they found his daughter, he would once again return to hating her. 

And yet, there were moments when she could have sworn... 

His gaze was on her, she could feel it, almost as acutely as heat sensors. Irina's glance back was met with a slow nod, a grim smile. It was all she would get from him, even after months. 

She was fine with it. 

With a breathless sigh, she came forward, depositing the scotch, neat, into his hands. 

He took it without a word. 

"You were late," she said again, purposely away from him so as to hide her expression. "Was there trouble?" 

"There was a tail," he said slowly, heavily. "They almost had me for a second. They're waiting to find us together." 

Of course they were. What better way to catch Irina Derevko than to find her consorting with their very own traitor. "You are playing with fire, Jack." 

"I'd walk through it if it helped me get any closer to Sydney." 

"And yet there was nothing." 

"No. There was something, but it was not what we were looking for." 

Turning toward him, Irina felt the thump in her heart that she had come to associate with hope. She had grown wary of it. It was almost always followed by disappointment. "What do you mean?" 

"I'll explain later. Was there any luck with you?" 

Managing a grim chuckle, Irina came forward, shaking her head slowly as she dipped into the seat beside him, now holding a drink of her own. "None. If my contacts are aware of her at all, Jack," she finished grimly. "They certainly are not sharing it with me." 

"Surely there must be someone who knows..." 

"Those who I have spoken to know better than to lie to me, Jack," she said matter-of-factly. Her glance was smoldering as she added, "They know what I would do." 

Her husband was tired. Beautiful eyes hid their brilliance when he closed them, letting out a long, tired exhale as he relaxed, just for a moment, in her presence. It was new, to see this side of him. 

She never realized she had missed it until he began to do it again. 

"You're tired." 

"I'm tired," he repeated. "I'm tired and angry and damn near a fugitive within my own operation." When he finally opened his eyes, there was a glint of anger, as he focused on her. "My daughter is out there who knows where becoming the one thing I hoped to God she would never become-" 

God. Of course. 

And there it was. Her disappointment. A low drop in the pit of her stomach that was physically painful. 

This was the reason Irina fought to keep her darker half. The human Irina could not face what he believed her to be. It would have been easier, to take what he said as a compliment, to not hate herself. 

It would have been so much easier to hate him for this feeling. 

"Is that what you fear?" she asked quietly. "That she has become who I was?" 

He said nothing at first, only glared at her with an angry scowl that was so reminiscent of their first glance after two decades of separation - utter hate. 

"Who you are." 

She had to smile. Granted, it was bitter, a phantom mimic of the genuine article, but it provided at least some protection against her withering heart. "If that is your fear, so be it. But I can assure you, Sydney would never consciously do what we believe she is doing." 

"You don't think she's capable?" 

"Oh, she is capable," she snapped. "Dammit, Jack, she is very capable. But she would never choose it. I know that." 

The glass slammed down against the coffee table, sloshing scotch over her fingertips, onto the wood. Launching to her feet, she was prepared to move away from him, when he caught her around the wrist, holding her in place with a fierce grip. 

"She is EXACTLY like you, Irina," he said slowly, intensely. "Why do you think I need you to help me? You KNOW what she is. Who she is. You can help me find her, because she is your DAUGHTER." 

She could not dispute that. Sydney was indeed her daughter. 

"You are right, Jack. She is my daughter. She knows my mistakes. She has been lied to, and beaten, and broken, and that is only by her parents. She is not a monster. She is in trouble, and I will find her. With or without you, I will find her, but if you decide to keep working with me, never, ever presume to judge me. I would never have made her like me. But you? You did." 

Jerking her hand away, she did not wait for his reply. There was not much more she could take. 

"Get out. When I have a lead, I will contact you." 

Her trembling seemed almost impossible to control. It took two deep breaths, a whispered rebuke to her senses, to regain control. 

The door closed, signaling his exit, and at that, she crumpled against the bar, palms catching the end for support. 

It was dreadfully silent after his exit, but as she roved the room in an effort to concentrate on anything but her turmoil, she found the two paper bags he had left behind. 

She had assumed they were plans, clothes, guns - anything Jack related usually had something to do with his work. 

Inside there were roses, a bottle of wine, and strawberries. 

She threw them away. 

There was no understanding what they meant, and Irina would not guess. 

-- 

The blast of gunfire created a momentary ring in her ear, as the kick back from the bolt shot the handle of the gun back into her palm. 

But her view was clear, and her focus undeterred. 

The man who fired first fell to the ground with a strangled yelp. 

"JACK!" Her breathless cry was tinged with panic. Irina dared not look. Her eyes swept down the darkened cobblestone alley, listening intently for any sound that would indicate the presence of another shooter. It was a desperate moment, and her heart pounded so fast and so hard she was half-afraid that she would miss something dreadfully important because of her mounting concern. 

A ragged moan behind her finally gave her an opportunity to breathe. "I'm allright, I'm allright!" 

Dropping her hand down, Irina took a final sweep of the alley before stepping backwards, holstering her weapon and searching. 

She found him ten feet away, splayed out on the wet stone, palm pressing on a wound on his shoulder, face frozen in a rough grimace. 

"Oh my God," she whispered, kneeling down beside him, tearing his hand from the wound. "Were you badly hit?" 

"It's a flesh wound," he answered, intense as he tried to shrug her off. "I'm fine, Irina." 

"I don't care if you are or not, Jack, we need to get out of here." 

"Finally, something we agree on," he managed, throwing her a tight smile. 

"Can you move at all?" 

"I said I was fine-" 

She ignored his yelp of protest, throwing his arm around her shoulder. With gritted teeth, she pushed up, maintaining his weight as he righted himself. "Terribly nice of the CIA to shoot at their own agent," she growled, hobbling with him. 

"Oh, darling, trust me, they were just trying to kill you. Would you rather they be yours?" 

"I have no affiliation, Jack. And if I did? You would be dead. They would not miss." 

-- 

He shuddered, a low groan rumbling from his throat, sending vibrations across his bare chest, tickling her fingers. 

Her hands stilled. 

"That hurt?" she asked, voice low. 

"I'll be fine." 

A roll of her eyes and a small tap against his shoulder indicated her frustration. "I didn't ask if you were fine, I asked if it hurt." 

"It's nothing." 

Eyebrow arching in reaction, she shook her head, clucking her tongue as she reached for a clean gauze, keeping pressure on the wound. "I've heard that before." 

He had the temper of a grumpy bear woken during hibernation. Craning his neck to half growl at her, his look was curiously intense. "What does that mean?" 

Irina smirked slightly, opening her legs wider to come closer to his body, his skin's warmth spreading to her own as her leather pants absorbed his heat. In the flickering firelight, his face was a plane of shadows, and it wasn't hard to remember his younger self with the same expression. 

"Simply that the last time you used that expression with me, I ended up rushing you to the hospital in the middle of the night, the night before I was due to give a final to my students." 

Reminiscing was probably not what he had in mind. Even if her voice slurred with amusement, he stiffened under her ministrations, taking in a short breath. Irina bit her lip, kept working, keeping silent. 

It was a surprise when he relaxed, venturing a smile on his face as he answered quietly, "I didn't know I was that allergic to dandelions." 

"Which begged the question, what man in his right mind would actually eat them?" 

"I was trying to teach Sydney an important survival lesson!" 

Bursting out into a short laugh, she retorted, "You did. I guarantee you she never ate another dandelion again." 

It was a warm silence that followed, almost awkward in it's presence. She would never associate her meetings with Jack to be anything but frigid and cold. And yet... 

She patted his shoulder, tracing the line of the gauze with her fingertips. "There you are. All better." 

With a grimace, he tested his arm, feeling the bandage with his free hand. "Thanks." 

"You're quite welcome." Arms still splayed open, he was almost too comfortable in her pseudo embrace. When he turned to lock into her glance, she found herself shuddering, moving back to gather her medical supplies, before taking a breath. "Those were your people, Jack." 

His face immediately grew impassive, hard. "No, they were NSC." 

She nodded slightly, releasing a sigh as she ran a distracted hand through her hair, closing her eyes. "They'll catch you with me, one of these days. You're sacrificing your career." 

Aggravated at her tone, he pushed up from the bed, palm curling around his shirt. "I know that." 

"Jack." Her tone was firm. There was no nonsense in it. "If they try to kill me, I will kill them." 

"I know." Turning back, his eyes narrowed, arms crossed in defiance. "What exactly is your point, Irina?" 

It was a weakness, she knew. A part of her didn't want to say it at all. But her rational self, the hardened Irina that had been kept alive by pure ambivalence and immorality, knew that this was the easiest way. Give up the search for her daughter. Push Jack away. It was only a matter of time before he would get caught, and they would take her too, Jack would not hesitate to give her to them. 

"Simply, that perhaps it would be best if you did not pursue this." 

"Impossible." 

"I would continue, Jack, I would take up the search on my own-" 

"That's enough, Irina!" he erupted with a shout, striding forward. "I will not stop!" 

Of course he wouldn't. "After all of this, you still do not trust me? Do not trust the love for my daughter?" 

He said nothing. There was a tick in his jaw, as if he was physically restraining himself from speaking, as if whatever he had to say, was potentially catastrophic.   
"I know enough to realize that you love Sydney, Irina. But I cannot simply let this go." 

"You could lose everything!" 

"I already have!" 

The bark of his words left a sting in her heart. She was shaking, she realized, and her eyes suddenly burned with tears that she wasn't aware had formed. 

He was her disease, terminal, chipping away at her resolve, and suddenly it had culminated in this - Irina was doing what she had sworn never to do for Jack Bristow. 

She was putting him before herself. 

"If I have indeed lost my daughter," she began slowly, unable to look at him, suddenly intent on the bandages in her hands. "Then I cannot lose my husband. I've lost my family twice already, Jack. I cannot survive a third time." 

This would have been the time for him to make that cutting remark. Bring her back to earth with some comment of how she never had a family, that it was Laura Bristow who he married, not her. He would break her heart, and she would go on, hardened and surviving, the way she had survived for years. 

That was what she hoped he would do, because she could not understand this Irina. This love for a man and a love for a daughter that was taking over her life, slipping out of her control. 

But Jack, being Jack, only made it worse. 

Fingers trailed along her skin, until they cupped her shoulder. Irina exhaled raggedly, and when he pulled, she crumpled in his embrace, blinding wrapping hands around his neck, pulling him into her body. 

Irina did not wail, or sob uncontrollably, but the tears drifted freely from her eyes, as she clutched him close, face buried in his shoulder, mouth pressed against his skin, fingers tangling into his silken gray hair. 

When his lips began to softly trail along her cheek, her eyes closed, her body hummed, and Irina knew that, once again, her weakness had succeeded in consuming her. 

But it did not stop her from turning her head, catching his lips with her own in a drunken, hungry, desperate kiss. 

--   
  



	4. IV All Good Things

**IV. All Good Things...**

"It's Sloane." 

The hairbrush stilled, caught in the strands of her hair, as Irina bit back a sigh, keeping her tone firm as Jack Bristow burst into the hotel room, his face a mask of anger. 

"It is not Sloane." 

With a crash, a newspaper slammed onto her vanity, disrupting her make up and nearly spilling her perfume. 

"Look at it." 

Arching an eyebrow in ill-disguised annoyance, she dropped the brush, curling her fingers around the copy of the London Globe. 

"Well, since you asked so nicely." Clapping out the dust in the pages, she quickly skimmed the headline, roving down to the picture of their very well-connected personal devil, Arvin Sloane, waving to the cameras at the opening for his charity. "Hmm," she remarked. "Well, doesn't he look sweet?" 

Quite obviously, this was not what Jack wanted to hear. "Irina-" 

She swiveled in her chair, nearly tangling her legs in her long velvet skirt. "Jack, Sloane was the first person I thought of, and I found nothing. You can not believe that I would disregard him so quickly." 

"It's him." 

"It's not him." 

He was silent, and while her irritation was shallow and fleeting, on his face was an expression of very real anger, brooding like a graying James Bond in his half open tuxedo shirt, black tie hanging from his collar. 

"I worked with the man for twenty years. I know what he is capable of. Simply because you and he have a personal bond over the last time you decided to screw me over, Irina, does not mean you know him-" 

It was instinct, a split second loss of control. The brush smashed against the vanity with such force it cracked in two. 

If that did not shut Jack up, the fierce intensity of Irina's gaze as she pointed the broken handle at him certainly did the job. 

Her voice was low, dangerous. "Do not," she began quietly, "even attempt to throw that in my face, yet again. Yes, I made my personal deal with Arvin, but I never, ever, deemed him worthy of trust. He had something I thought I needed. I admit, I was wrong. I knew that almost from the beginning, but do not tell me that you have never wanted something so much, you did not care with whom you aligned yourself. Simply the mere act of you standing in this room with me gives you no reason to talk." 

In the aftermath of her rant, Irina was left shaking. There were variations of this speech that Irina had been given, one way or another, at least ten times since she aligned herself with Jack. Frankly, she was getting tired of it. To attempt to justify herself to a man who condemned her from the moment he stepped back into her life was impossible, especially when the guilt that nearly swallowed her whole was still quite acute. She simply did not have the energy to get into it again now. 

Thankfully, Jack made no retort. He simply stared. 

She had no wish to exchange yet another smoldering love/hate/ambiguous staring match. Turning back to the mirror, she was aghast to discover flushed cheeks, moistened eyes, blotches of red over her skin. 

"Oh, dammit..." Flinging aside the broken handle, she reached for the powder, trying desperately to capture some onto the fluffy make up brush with short, erratic jerks. 

Palms covered her bare shoulders, gentle in their caress. 

Irina's eyes fluttered closed at the contact. The hardened soul warned again against this, pitter-patters of her heart sending prickles of panic to her brain. She was giving in too easily. 

If he learned her weaknesses, he could someday break her. 

A low, weary sigh escaped her lips when he pressed his mouth just under her jaw, tongue sweeping at her jugular in such a way she sank against him, head falling back against his chest. 

Her eyes opened dizzily to the mirror, and she discovered a contrite man kneading fingers into a woman's bare shoulders, staring into her eyes, a small, secret smile gracing his lips. 

"What?" she finally answered. 

"You know," he began after a moment. "Other couples have fights about what movie to watch." 

He was not going to apologize, she didn't expect it. It would be foolish to do so, because as far she knew, Jack had not yet forgiven her for what she had done. 

But he looked past it. For that alone, she was grateful. 

And the fact that she was grateful for such small acceptance? Yes, the darker part of her hated her all the more. 

A slow, lazy grin tugged at her mouth, pulling it up as she allowed a low, rumbling chuckle. His fingers began to knead, and the tension slowly began to drift away slowly, too easily. 

"We can do that too. I've always hated your Charles Bronson fetish." 

He froze behind her. "You never told me that." 

"Yes, well, that is one good thing about being Irina Derevko instead of Laura Bristow. Now I can." She realized Jack would not see the humor in the edgy joke the moment she made it. If Irina had stopped to ponder what made her bring it up, she would eventually consider that perhaps this situation was getting a little too domestic, that sabotaging it by bringing up their very sensitive past was another way to keep her heart closed. 

In part, she succeeded. His smile froze the moment the words left her lips. Preparing herself for the inevitable frost he was so good at directing her way, she fingered her earring collection, toying with her choice for that night. 

But Jack bewildered her. Instead of turning into the glowering man she had become accustomed to, he reached for the roll of pearl beads, fitting them around her neck. 

For one horrible second, she was afraid he would attempt to choke her with them. "We should get going," he ventured softly, clipping them together deftly and stepping back. 

"I agree." 

Taking a moment to compose herself with a heady breath in, Irina rose from the chair, palms smoothing out the evening dress and pushing her hair behind her ear with one finger. 

In mid-gesture, she caught him staring, a haunted look suddenly taken over his face, her husband across the room standing stark still. 

"What?" she said, a trifle self consciously. "What is it?" 

"She looks just like you when does that," he answered gruffly. 

Sydney. 

For a brief, terrible moment, it seemed her heart was going to literally break in two. 

But she could not afford to break. Not now. 

Irina had survived torture numerous times. She knew that wherever Sydney was, she more than likely had the same done to her, but worse. Sydney would not break – she had her spirit. 

She had her heart. 

Glancing up, she caught his saddened gaze, naked and open grieving for his daughter. With her own glistening orbs, she gave it back. 

"We will find those responsible for her disappearance." Her tone was flat, not open for negotiation or doubt. "And they will pay." It was impossible not to believe she meant every word. 

For once, he seemed glad to be dealing with Irina Derevko instead of the mild Laura Bristow. 

"Help me with this, will you?" 

Coming forward, she carefully, quickly put together his bow tie, knotting it deftly. "Your contact was sure of this?" she asked with a gentle smile, meeting his look. 

He answered with a rough nod. "Mentioned that a guy named Simon may or may not have been hired to perform the assassination, and he has a girl about Sydney's age on his team. It may be a long shot, no one knows much of anything except they seem inseparable, but-" 

"It's more than what we have," she finished quietly. "Yes, I know." She gave one last tug, straightening out his tie. "There," she answered, voice rough. "All done." 

With his tall, sturdy body, his debonair good looks, and his imposing stance, he was a handsome, powerful man. 

Like a boy escorting his prom date, he offered her the crook of his elbow. 

"Shall we?" 

Sometimes she forgot how much time had passed. 

It was a bittersweet smile she returned, slipping her fingers into the crook of his arm, allowing him to lead her to the door. 

"What was wrong with Charles Bronson?" 

-- 

With so many scars painted across the fine, pale skin, one expected to slide a palm along and feel nothing but roughness. 

She never grew tired of exploring his chest. While not as defined as twenty years ago, she enjoyed its softness, the silky smoothness of his skin. It contrasted delightfully with the small, bristles of gray hair that lightly spackled across his broad torso. 

Lately, it always ended like this. Another false hope, another dead end lead. They would return broken hearted, and found in their sadness, burying their lost hope in each other the only viable release for their frustration. 

Sex with Jack was pleasurable, sweet. He was a considerate lover, had always been, and that was something she had always known. 

What she did not expect were these gentle, loving interludes. 

Pressing her cheek against his chest, she listened to his heart beat, nails raking delicately through the short hairs beside her, watching as they moved with her fingers. 

"That tickles." 

Smiling, she glanced up wickedly. "Does it?" 

One hand behind his neck, supporting his head, Jack gave a small nod, but only pulled her closer, before resuming his caresses, rubbing the knuckles of his free hand absently up and her spine, then down to the small of her back. 

Irina closed her eyes, allowed the sensation to fill her, content as she shifted her face, pressed her mouth absently into his skin, leaving a soft, distracted kiss before settling against him once more. 

"This is nice." 

"Mmm," she responded, lazy in her response, stretching against him as if she were a cat, locking an ankle over his calf and rubbing against his leg. 

In her dreamy lethargic doze, she felt inclined to agree. 

It was nice. 

Her heart jumped, and suddenly, her eyes shot open. 

Her stiffening form alerted him, caused his fingers to still against her back. "What?" 

Biting down on her lower lip, she sucked in a short breath, distractedly pressing a kiss next to his left nipple, smoothing at the spot with two fingers. "Nothing I just..." Glancing up, she met his gaze head on, resting her chin against her palm as she shifted on top of him. "We're getting too comfortable." 

It was the kiss of death for a spy. He knew the dangers as well as she did. This, all of this, the lazy lovemaking, the long cuddles, sleeping in after a night of searching for Sydney... 

His eyes bore into her own, processing the information, before the slate of his orbs flickered away, and he rested his head back on the pillow, exhaling such a sigh her body lowered with it. 

"You're right." 

"We're getting stupid," she said softly, keeping her gaze on him, never moving from her position on top of him. "If we continue to do this, it will only be a matter of time that-" 

"I know," he answered shortly. "I know..." The angry tone was coupled with a frustrated expression, almost as if this was her fault. "Couldn't we enjoy this Irina? Just for a moment? Must everything be about pain to you?" 

Truly, he knew how to cut her. 

"Don't," she began shortly, pushing up against his chest, bringing the sheet over her chest to stare at him with narrowed eyes. "You have no idea how much these early morning respites mean to me – which is why I do not want them to go away. If we continue so carelessly, one of us WILL get caught-" 

"And Sydney will be left with no one, I know," he answered flatly. "I know." Jack stared off into the corner of the room, focus on some unknown variable she could not see. 

Irina had always been a damned good spy. She was sure Jack would have argued the point, but even Sydney would admit that in terms of deceit, espionage, survival, she was better than Jack. 

She knew how to play the game, and she knew when to cut her losses, and get out. 

"We should establish protocol," she said after a moment, pushing long bangs out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. Eyes were on the floor of the room, searching for her bra, she continued, "In case anything happens, and we need to reach each other-" 

"Fine. We'll do it later." 

"Jack-" 

"Irina-" 

"Jack, it cannot wait. We cannot control the NSC – they're onto you. Just being in each other's presence we are flaunting our luck. If we need to split up when things get too hot, then-" 

"Fine, fine." Jack's large hands stilled her movements, fingers cupping her chin so she was suddenly looking down at him. "We'll do this," he said after a moment, eyes unusually dark as he caressed her hair, pushed them gently behind her ear only to have them fall forward yet again. He suddenly smiled. "If you need to reach me, I'll place an ad in the London Globe, the personals section." 

How very trite. 

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "So you would have me scouring the personals like a desperate old lady?" He grinned, a naughty expression that made him look like a little boy that needed to be spanked. "And how will I know it is from you?" 

"You'll know." His hips bucked, and suddenly, she was thrown forward, sprawled against his chest as his hands spread over the small of her back, trapping her lower body against his. 

"Jack!" 

"What do you say we discuss the details later?" 

She could never argue with that look. With a short, amused chortle of laughter, she let his lips connect with her own, moving against his mouth hungrily as his legs opened and she settled against his hardening groin. 

"You are pure evil," she whispered between kisses. 

"Great way to go, isn't it?" he mumbled against her skin. Wrapping his arms around her back, he twisted suddenly, causing her to release a burst of unexpected laughter when he reversed their position, and held her captive underneath him. 

Her laughter faded when his gaze grew somber, intense. 

"What?" she asked, almost a whisper. 

Quiet for what seemed hours, he finally spoke with a caress of a palm against her cheek. "Nothing, I just..." 

When he kissed her, it was soft, passionate, and so full of love she felt her heart would burst from the experience. 

She returned it wholeheartedly. 

-- 

It seemed to have come full circle. 

Irina drank alone, palms wrapped around her mug, staring into the dark color of the alcohol as if it contained something infinitely precious. 

She was slightly drunk, which was against her better judgment. Getting even a little inebriated was a stupid, stupid thing to do. There were so many people after her, and somehow she could have cared less. 

Another lead on Sydney, another dead-end, and this time, there was no Jack to bury herself into. 

No, Jack was in a very wonderful glass cage inside the very well fortified CIA headquarters. 

"God, I'm pathetic," she whispered. Smiling grimly, she shoved the glass away from her. 

It sloshed over the fingers of a man no older than thirty, wearing a crooked smile and a poor boy hat. 

He met her gaze head on, touching the tip of his hat in a slow, reverent nod. 

Irina narrowed her eyes, shifting her position to rest her head on her chin. "You know you ruined the moment there. There would have been much more of a poetic impact if it had fallen to the floor in a loud, glorious crash." 

"I believe it," he replied, accent a thick Irish brogue. "But it seems a pity to waste perfectly good spirits. Do you mind?" 

"Not at all," she answered blithely, waving a palm in his direction. "Feel free." 

"Thank you." Tipping the mug up, he gulped at the content, bring it down almost immediately. "Bloody hell, it tastes like piss!" 

"It most certainly does." 

He laughed, shooting another drink down before slamming the mug on the wooden table, extending a hand. "I'm Simon." 

She didn't move, staring at his hand and nodding easily. "I know who you are." 

"You do?" He seemed surprised, but not overly concerned. "I'm rather flattered, what with your reputation." 

"Then you know who I am?" 

"Not a thief in this place who doesn't." 

"Which does beg the question, what an amateur like you is doing talking to someone like me," she said quietly, dropping the smile. "Mr. Walker, I find the groupie act seldom amusing, and I prefer to drink alone, if you don't mind." 

"Oh, me too! Ain't why I'm here, though." 

"Oh, really?" 

"There are people, ya know? Interested in contracting your services." 

Ah... yes, of course. 

She would have been amused had she not been so irritated. "I am not a free agent, Mr. Walker. If you and your friends know what is good for them, then I would suggest, you take that mug of beer, get up from my table, and move away. I am not one you would want to toy with." 

"Darlin', don't think I don't know that. But as scared as I am of ya, these guys kinda scare me more. I've been instructed to bring you by for a consultation, with... " An apologetic smile creased over his handsome face, as he opened the flap of his leather coat, revealing a gun tucked at his side, "or without your... uh... permission." 

Her eyes flickered slowly from the weapon to his face. "Do you honestly think you would be able to pull that before I slit your throat?" 

He considered, cocking his head at the thought. "Prolly not. And you could probably beat that guy over there," he motioned to a man standing ten feet away, "And that bloke right there..." He grinned. "But could you handle all six of us?" 

She breathed in a sigh. "As much as I would love to meet the latest group just yearning to take over the world, I'm otherwise engaged at the moment." 

"So multi task." 

She grew silent, staring into his dark, sinful eyes. 

Life was about choices. 

The last time she saw Jack was the night they established protocol. There had been a promise she had extracted, should anything happen, whoever was left would continue the search for the reason behind Sydney's disappearance. 

In order to do so, she needed two things: she needed underworld contacts, significantly diminished thanks to Sark's incarceration and Sloane's pardon, not to mention her collaboration with the CIA. She also needed to be alive. 

Licking her lips, Irina tossed her hair over her shoulder, flashing the younger man a sexy smile and a sultry laugh. 

"Allright then, Simon. I consider myself open minded. Take me to your leader." 

--   



	5. V Lucifer

**V. Lucifer**

"It has been over a year." Irina Derevko smoothed her palm over the supple leather of her chair, glancing up over the desk to arch an eyebrow questionably at the handsome young man who stood in her doorway. "And yet I still have yet to meet the leader of this organization that keeps requesting my services." 

Simon Walker grinned sheepishly, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle in his suit as he flopped into the chair across from her. "Don't shoot the messenger, darlin'. I don't even know who keeps askin'. You're lucky you know as much as ya do. I can't even tell my team." 

Prickles of amusement forced a small smile to tug at her mouth. "So you're telling me that your group of petty thieves and murderers do any little thing you tell them, for no reason at all?" 

"Don't make 'em like they used to," Simon answered lazily, balancing a boot onto her antique desk. "They just like getting paid." 

"Get your feet off my desk," she said crisply. "Did you bring what I asked you for?" 

"Oh, yeah, here." Fishing out a newspaper from his pocket, Simon gave it a disgusted frown, before tossing it on the desk. "First bird I've met who can't get enough of her daily news." 

Slipping the London Globe under a folder, Irina curbed the instinct to immediately tear open the paper to find the personals section. To keep hoping was ridiculous. Jack Bristow should have been dead to her. 

But it was a weakness. She just kept looking. 

His obsession had become her own, and it was because of her phantom memories of her daughter and her husband that she kept up the charade, tolerated the demands of what was quite possibly the most dangerous organization she had ever come into contact with. 

Morality never came into question. Irina had long ago realized she had no morality, and with Jack behind bars and Sydney disappeared, the CIA held nothing for her but a host of memories and a place on their most wanted list. 

"When on earth are you going to fix that ridiculous hair cut?" she snapped, glancing up at the rugged young thug. 

Simon looked a little hurt by that, patting at the ridiculous cow-lick looking thing and shifting once again. 

"Julia liked it allright." 

Julia... 

Irina closed her eyes, taking in a deeper breath, fingers automatically clamping over the newspaper. 

Julia... 

How could they have been so close and yet so far away? 

"And what of your paramour?" she began, forced ease in her tone as she projected what she knew to be a glance of pure curiosity, nothing more. "You told me you would bring your deadly little vixen to meet me the next time you dropped by." 

"I'm not a liar, she's disappeared." 

Once again, the hope that had built so steadily into Irina's heart sank into a painful gap, below her stomach. 

"Pardon?" 

"Yeah, she's gone. Been gone for months. One minute she's there, happily plugging people away. Next minute, she just up and-" 

"Disappears," Irina whispered. "Of course." Closing her eyes, a bitter laugh on her the cusp of her lips, Irina could not help but shake her head at the futileness of the whole game. If Julia was Sydney... if there had been a way of getting closer to the Covenant without being swallowed whole... 

Simon paused, eyes narrowing. "You all right? Look like you're shaking a bit." 

"I've got a headache," she lied, rubbing at her temples and straightening up. "What can I do for the Covenant today?" 

"Information," he said immediately. Opening his jacket, he produced a blue folder, placing it on her desk. "What do you think?" 

Irina took it without comment, giving a narrowed glance before skimming the pages. "They'll need quite a bit of finances to achieve this - and their point person is not up to the task." 

"Hey!" he sounded almost offended. "What are you saying?" 

"I'm saying that if they do this, they'll need a man called Sark. He is currently being held in custody with the CIA, and it would be wise to negotiate his release." 

"Allright, and how will they do that?" 

"Simon, if the Covenant expects me to do everything, then I expect them to pay me a little better." Her eyes narrowed. "Give them what I have told you, and then tell the Covenant that the rest will be shared the moment they send someone other than their hired hand. Don't misunderstand, Simon. You're very handsome, but I don't quite trust you." 

The 'hired hand' in question didn't seem to take offense to the comment. 

"Fair enough." Pushing out of his chair, he tipped his head. "Love the way that shirt fits, by the way. Making my pants tighter as we speak." 

"Walker." Irina's voice was clipped, hard, giving no indication she had even heard his flirtatious parting remark. "They will receive nothing more from me until I learn more about them. They have used my knowledge quite enough. If they want an even trade, tell them I'll be waiting." 

Simon considered. "Right then, good night."   
She never released her hold on the gun under her desk until the door shut properly. 

Burying her fingers in her hair, Irina closed her eyes, kept still for another full minute. It was as if she had forgotten how to breathe. 

It took a moment to remember her chants, reclaim the correct breathing pattern, find enough focus to erase the panic, the frustration. 

She had waited too long and she had lost Julia, and with it came the ever-frustrating nagging doubt that Sydney was perhaps truly gone. 

Another failed promise to Jack, to herself. 

Every rational part of Irina warned her not to continue with this nonsense. The covenant was dangerous, and she knew too little about them to consider playing both sides. 

There was only enough loyalty for one, if she wanted to live. 

It was the smart decision, the one she knew she had to take. The one she had already taken. 

Her eyes opened, fell upon a newspaper that had been nearly forgotten in the preceding events. 

She considered shoving it over into the trashcan, erasing its existence. 

Instead her weakness got the better of her. 

She opened it. 

-- 

Handel_4me: Couldn't believe it when I saw your ad in the London Globe. 

Some would consider it odd that a person would travel nearly two thousand miles to take part in a private chat. Irina had done it without hesitation. Fingers poised over the keyboard, she fought for emotion, a small sob of relief exhaling as she kept her eye on the cursor. 

Mozart_182: GLAD YOU'RE ALIVE. 

She laughed, a short burst that escaped before she could quench it. Oh, God it was him. Him and that horrible way he had at chatting. Typing in all bloody capital letters. And of course, there he was, with his way of saying everything as a gross understatement. She quickly began to type back. 

Handel_4me: You should have known better. 

Jack's encoded message had been short, crisp. He had gotten out, he was free, but with the CIA. He needed to speak with her in a matter that was of some urgency. 

Emotion aside, it was almost pathetic, the way she had reacted. For a moment, after catching that glimpse of an ad, she could not see, and then, had she not had the sense to move the paper away, she would have poured tears on the whole damned thing. 

It was understated and almost a bit too formal, her first meeting with Jack.   
  
Mozart_182: OUR DAUGHTER IS ALIVE. 

"Oh, God," she whispered, hands pressing to her mouth as she felt herself struggling for breath, a choking gasp leaving her body as the cold black letters burned into her consciousness. 

Licking her lips in nervous anticipation, it took three tries with shaking fingers to finally type back. 

Handel_4me: My God. How is she? 

Sydney was alive. She was alive and with Jack. What had happened? Was she hurt? Where was she? Was she never Julia after all? 

"Oh, please Jack, please hurry," she whispered. 

Mozart_182: RECOVERING, THOUGH SHE DOESN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TWO YEARS. NEED YOUR HELP GETTING BACKGROUND ON A MAN NAMED ANDREAN LAZAREY. 

"Andrean Lazarey?" Her fingers stilled, staring at the name as her teeth bit into her upper lip. Oh, God... had he figured it out... 

Was it really Sydney then? 

And if Sark was indeed released like she had directed the Covenant... 

"Oh, God..." 

There was too much to sift through. Too much to understand. She had promised not to keep any secrets from Jack, but this... 

Licking her lips to regain the moisture in her suddenly parched tongue, her fingers quickly flew over the keyboard. Halfway through the sentence, Irina paused. 

This was Jack, on the other end of this god-awful impersonal machine. Jack, who had kissed her so beautifully the last time she had seen him. The last time she had lain in his arms. Two words came without warning, and she pressed send before she had a chance to regret them. 

Handel_4me: Will upload all intel to our FTP drop site. Miss you. 

When he responded, she didn't care if she thought he was lying, or what secrets she would be forced to reveal now that the Covenant had, only that morning, accepted her offer to become more deeply involved in their plans. 

Mozart_182: MISS YOU, TOO. 

She smiled, the uncomfortable feeling of tears burning in her eyes forcing her to take in a ragged breath, steal a glance around her and press the small x on the corner of the window. 

Her daughter was alive. 

With a quick flutter of fingertips, she signed out of the carrier. 

"Good-bye!" it said in its cheeriest, metallic voice. 

Her chest was constricted slightly, and her small smirk was a bittersweet one. 

"Good bye," she whispered. 

Slipping on her sunglasses, Irina wrapped up the computer, offering a demure smile to the young man who held her coat for her. 

She thanked him primly, smile frozen on her face as she walked out of the small café and surveyed her surroundings. 

Her husband was free. Her daughter was alive. 

The Covenant was growing stronger every day. 

It was simple. Do everything in her power to help Jack protect Sydney, while at the same time maintain covert relations with a terrorist organization that sooner or later, the CIA would come after, thereby causing her to not only sacrifice her loyalties, but quite possibly lose her life in the crossfire that would occur the second Jack and Sydney realized she was not only helping them, but working for the Covenant. And if Sydney was indeed Julia, and if the Covenant was responsible for the transformation, then Irina would not only betray them, but kill every person involved. 

"All right," she said slowly, digging her palms into the pocket of her trenchcoat. "It seems simple enough." 

As she stepped daintily down the steps, her cellphone began to ring, vibrating in her pocket. 

Pulling it out easily, she continued to walk, adjusting the knife under her shirt for easy retrieval. 

"Irina Derevko." 

--   



	6. VI Guardian Angel

**VI. Guardian Angel**

"Well. Isn't this quite the reunion." 

Irina hid her surprise quite well, considering the circumstances. Palm slipping into her well tailored slacks, she looked the very picture of relaxation as she surveyed the room and it's two occupants. 

Sark, who had spoken as she entered, rose to his feet immediately, shorn head not detracting from his charming smile at all. 

"My lady," he murmured, gathering one exquisitely manicured palm into his hands, and pressing a light kiss on her knuckles. 

Irina's nod was automatic, focus instead on the other occupant, a man with a lazy, serene smile which widened upon receipt of her stare. 

"Irina," he greeted, straightening up to bow his head slightly. "It's so good to see you again." 

A questioning glance at Sark revealed the young man smiling, shrugging in a boyish manner that so often hid the cold hearted assassin that lurked underneath. "What can I say? I got nostalgic." 

"I was under the assumption you were out of all of this," she said breezily, stepping around her stalwart young man and heading for the table. 

"Especially ironic, considering I had heard the same about you." Arvin seemed especially at peace with himself, happily tittering with that secretive smile that told everyone in the room he knew exactly what she had been doing, or rather, who she had been doing. 

"Quite obviously, you were mistaken." His gaze lingered on her longer than necessary. 

"Hmm," he responded. 

"What the devil were you two up to?" Sark said, voice tinted with curious amusement as he looked from one to another. 

"I assume you haven't caught up on the latest gossip?" Sloane asked, breaking his glance at Irina to smile happily at him. 

"Course not - broke out long enough to give 800 million I never knew I had to these folks (been meaning to thank you for that)," he mentioned to her, "then stopped for a couple dirty deeds and then went to kidnap you. It's been nothing but work, work, work-" 

"Aren't you lucky to be so blessed," Irina drawled dryly. 

"I think so," he answered with a wink. "Saw that Jack Bristow was sniffing around Simon Walker's group, though. Will have to remember to bring that up." 

The smile faded from Irina's smile immediately. "I hadn't heard that." 

"Yes, he has been quite the world traveler, recently," Sloane interjected quietly. 

"What did he want with Simon?" Irina asked sharply. 

"Nothing too horrible. Apparently your lovely daughter Sydney was playing undercover agent again, Jack was just coming along for the ride." 

Irina gasped, a clear mistake when Sark stopped talking, narrowing his eyes in wonder. 

Arvin broke the moment by clearing his throat. 

"Perhaps you can see what is keeping our dear host?" Sloane inquired, helping himself to a glass of water from the pitcher between them. "I'm afraid I have a meeting to get to." 

Concentration broken, Sark seemed to consider saying no to the order, until a barely perceptible nod from a now composed Irina had him grudgingly rising to his feet. 

"Fine, fine. Blab between you two if you must. I'll come back and torture it from you later." Tapping Irina gently on the shoulder, he headed to the door, locking it firmly behind him. 

"I've scanned the room," Sloane began, breaking the silence a few moments later. "Apparently our fine operative does not want to be recorded. It's clean." 

"What are you doing here?" she asked flatly. "The whole underground is aware of how you got your pardon. I'm surprised they haven't killed you yet." 

He merely smiled, wrapping his fingers around his glass and taking another long drink of water. "I can't deny that I'm a changed man, Irina." 

"You are not even a man," she smiled back just as politely, "Arvin." 

"I understand how this appears. Afterall, if I truly believed in Rambaldi, then what would I be doing here, among these illegal wrongdoers?" 

"Tell me, Arvin. I'm curious. How long do you think you can keep chanting that you've changed before someone actually believes you?" 

"You're being hostile for no reason, Irina. Water?" 

"No thank you." 

"I have no intention of outing you to Mr. Sark, or any of the others. It would cause Sydney and Jack too much pain to have their wife and mother tortured to death." 

Her eyes closed automatically, blood simmering just underneath her skin. "I've asked you repeatedly not to mention those names in my presence. One day I will lose patience." 

Sighing once, he only shrugged. "I know you do not believe me when I say I care for both your husband and your daughter, Irina, but in truth, it is one of the more important reasons that I am here." 

"Oh please do extol upon me the virtues of your intentions," she snapped. "I'm fascinated." 

"I assume you also made the connection between Sydney and Julia?" he asked quietly. 

Her eyes widened, mouth parting in surprise. 

"The Covenant is behind her disappearance," Arvin added. "I intend to find out why. Perhaps we can help each other unravel this mystery." 

The proposition was a tempting one, but there was nothing in Irina that told her she could accept the offer. 

"People like you and I are never to be trusted, Sloane," she finally spoke, quiet and resigned. "We have no loyalties, we have no morals, and we incapable of change. That is why, we both finds ourselves here," her palm gave an elegant motion to the room. "We simply age. We do not change." 

"You don't believe that," he responded almost immediately. "You know as well as I, that love for a child has the capacity to turn a hunter like the mighty lioness, into a figure as meek as a kitten." 

The room was silent, too quiet for her own tastes. Irina's inner turmoil ached for release, and had she not been deep in the heart of The Covenant headquarters, Sloane would have drawn his last breath after that smug sentence. 

With a final smile, she rubbed fingers through her hair, an expression of bored distraction. 

"Kittens still have claws," she reminded him. "And for the last time, Sydney is not your daughter. She is mine. Mine and Jack's, and we are the only parents she needs. Please do not delude yourself into believing your 'affection' for her can cause her anything but pain." 

He considered that. "Perhaps you're right," he finally conceded. "However, I do believe that should the NSC and the CIA become aware of her legendary career as Julia, she'll need all the help she can get. Jack Bristow cannot do it all alone. She will be the death of us, that child. She is our weakness." At her expression, his smile widened knowingly. "But I get the impression you understand that a little too well." 

He let that sink in, as the door opened, and Sark returned, the Covenant leader behind him. 

-- 

"Tell me, how difficult do you believe it would be to steal such a diamond?" 

"Oh, it is impossible. Our security is impeccable," the head of security had responded, seconds before he received a knife hand chop to the back of the neck, crumpling forward in a heap. 

Irina jumped back slightly, narrowly avoiding the guard's head crashing on top of her high-heeled shoes. 

The ankle length evening gown hampered her walking ability slightly, and Irina Derevko found herself thanking Versace for being thoughtful enough to include the slit that rose to midthigh. Not only did the flash of leg prove crucial in persuading the guard to let her in to see the all famed diamond, but it also gave her quite a bit of leverage when it came to maneuvering across the room, rolling, stretching, and crawling underneath the red beams to get to her target. 

While she could not fault the Covenant for wanting to get their hands on a diamond the size of her fist, Irina did not understand exactly why they seemed to think it was her duty to get it, when Sark was just as capable, if not slightly more insane. 

Balancing into a handstand, Irina felt the sweat beading on her lip, narrowly losing her stance when static in her ear erupted into voices. 

"Bodies coming your way, Irina." 

"I'm almost there." 

"Well then, be bloody careful," Sark reprimanded. "I'd like to go at least a day without shooting off my gun." 

She couldn't help the smirk that floated on her face as she immediately dropped into a roll, twisting into a cartwheel and finally landing on her feet, breathing in deeply. 

"Yes, you would." 

"Well, yes I would. If you hear of any trouble don't hesitate to ring for me." 

She had less than five minutes to continue through the rest of the red lasers. 

It became significantly less, however, when a thump on the floor behind her caught her attention. 

Two guards now lay slumped together, and standing beside them, a contraption in her hand that must have had something to do with all the bars suddenly disappearing, was a young woman who could have been a younger version of herself, outfitted in a blonde wig, and a slinky red dress, not unlike the one she was currently wearing. 

"Well," she managed. "That works too." 

"Mom?" 

It had been more than three years since she had laid eyes on her child. Jack had not been able to keep in touch, and Irina, not wanting to risk the danger, did not press the issue. 

But she had ached, physically ached, to see her husband and daughter. 

Wishes, it seemed, came with a bout of irony. She never wanted their first meeting since her daughter's disappearance to begin like this. 

It was Sydney. 

An overwhelming flood of warmth and hysteria surged into Irina's chest. Torn between standing her ground and rushing to enclose her daughter in her arms, the colder, rational Irina told her exactly what Sydney was seeing. 

"Hello Sydney," she responded. 

"Please tell me you're not here to steal that diamond," Sydney said raggedly. 

Irina was well familiar with denial. "If it will upset you, I will not tell you." 

"But you're here to take it..." 

More than anything, Irina wanted to explain, hand her child the diamond and embrace her, tell her how much she missed her. 

But Sark was listening to every word. 

"Irina? What the hell is going on down there?" he rattled in her ear, and Irina took another step back. 

The movement broke Sydney out of her frozen state. "Mom, I'm not going to let you take that diamond." 

"Finders keepers." 

Sydney's hand rose to her ear, speaking urgently, quickly, "Weiss, we have a problem, I need back up, now!" 

Immediately, Irina sprinted, moving across the now clear floor, ducking into a roll and coming up with her gun, shattering the glass with the resounding crash. 

"Mom, no!" 

She wrapped a palm around the diamond, turning back to discover her daughter only ten feet away, hands up as Irina pointed the gun directly at her chest. 

"I'm sorry, darling," she whispered, shaking her head apologetically. 

"MOM!" 

The gun shot, and Sydney flinched away, but the shot hit its mark. The security glass directly behind Sydney shattered, and before Sydney could recover from not being hit, Irina was through the window and out of the room. 

"Dammit," she managed, "Dammit, DAMMIT." 

She had memorized the evacuation plans weeks before. Turning the corner, she had no trouble finding the last door and slipping into the deserted alley. 

"Irina!" 

"I'm in the alley," she whispered into the mirophone. "PICK ME UP." 

"On my way." 

"FREEZE!" 

Turning toward the voice was a fatal mistake. It spooked him, and as she jerked back to the agent, he squeezed the trigger automatically. 

She twisted, shifting as soon as she saw the spark fly from the gun. 

"WEISS NO!" Sydney burst through the same door she had emerged from, eyes wide as she ran. 

The bullet slit Irina in the arm, causing her to cry out as she fell back. 

Somehow managing to stay on her feet, even as the blood dripped from her wound, she held tightly to the diamond, gun cocked right at Agent Weiss's forehead. 

"Mom?!" 

"I'm allright, Sydney," she said quietly, wincing slightly as she moved. "You both must leave. You do not understand what is happening here." 

Bitterness infected her daughter's voice as she remarked drolly, "Right, because the truth takes time?" 

A small, rueful smile floated on Irina's face as she shrugged. "Well, yes, actually. That and I have reinforcements racing to meet me here. I would rather they not kill you." 

"Mom, you can't be working for them," Sydney whispered, ignoring her partner, who to his credit, had opted to stay out of the mother-daughter squabble after his instinctive shooting. "Not after what Dad-" 

"The truth takes time, Sydney, I hope to explain it to you soon enough." Lowering the gun, she glanced at her wound, found the blood dripping making her slightly light headed. Without a word, she glanced from the agent, still holding his weapon in her direction, to her daughter, staring at her with a bewildered, desperate expression. 

Car wheels screeched, and suddenly Irina had no choice. 

The diamond floated into the air, a wobbly throw thanks to her wounded limb, but Sydney caught it easily. 

"I beg of you," Irina managed. "Please Sydney, go. It is not time yet." 

Sydney's face was blank, considering her moves, trying desperately to decide whether or not she should trust her own mother. 

The van turned the corner, accelerating. 

The sight made her decision for her. "Weiss, let's go." 

"Sydney-" 

"We got what we came for, NOW!" Pulling at her partner, the pair broke into a run, leaving her behind in the dank alley. 

Irina dropped the gun, finally allowing herself to breathe, sinking to her knees as she wrapped her palm around her bloody bicep, wincing at the pain. 

Beside her, a dark van screeched to a halt, doors opening with a metallic rasp to reveal a blonde haired man. 

"What happened? Bloody hell, what happened?" Kneeling beside her, Sark curled an arm around her waist, blue eyes bright with worry as he gingerly touched the ragged hole on her arm. 

"What do you think happened?" she said wearily. "Like mother, like daughter." 

"Like hell," he ground, shaking his head. "She'll pay for that. Did you get the diamond, at least?" 

"She took that too." 

"F*ck. Come on then, we'll get it back." Pulling her to her feet, he retrieved her gun, securing it on his belt, and pulling her into the van. "You should have let me go in there," he said, slapping at the driver's shoulder to get him moving. "I could have helped you." 

She lay still, eyes closing while Sark tied a rag around her arm, suddenly filled with thoughts of a daughter standing in an alley, helpless, alone, and betrayed. 

"No," she whispered. "I don't think anyone could have helped me." 

--   



	7. VII Consort

**VII. Consort**

She could see the veins in her hands. 

Grimacing slightly, Irina bit back the pain, shifting her fingers, watching the blood vessels form like tight chords just underneath the skin. 

The bullet wound was healing, but slowly. 

How long would she be able to do this? 

Could she continue to outrun bullets, withstand torture, deceive every day when she was fifty? Sixty? Eighty? 

Nearly thirty years of her life serving one faction or another, and for what? 

The villa was secluded, dark, there was never a way to be sure that someone wasn't there waiting with a gun in their hands, a bomb planted underneath a tile, poison in her drink. 

It was a lifestyle she had chosen, and she used to think it was worth it. 

Shifting the black pack to her wounded shoulder, she hissed at the pain, but kept it there, letting the pressure burn into her skin. The arm needed to heal, and she had to get past the agony to the point where she could ignore it. 

Numbness was key to her survival. 

By pure habit, she reached underneath her jacket to slip the gun from its holster, cocking it and keeping it easily at her side as she glanced around the dark wilderness of the safe house. 

It was silly. The Covenant's hold on this area was so strong only a person who wanted to commit suicide would consider touching her here. 

The door stuck slightly, and throwing her shoulder at it, she felt it give, feeling alongside the wall for the push button that would flood the room with light. 

With a click, she could see. Good Lord, she was tired. 

The briefings had been more intense, her meetings arduous. Losing the diamond to Sydney had taken away some of her credibility, and as a result, she had had to become more ruthless, more lethal, more like the Irina she was before. 

This morning had been spent convincing a former member of Simon Walker's team to give the whereabouts of his killer. He had given the information a little too freely. Irina had been forced to break his jaw before he could release Jack Bristow's name to her associates. 

It was almost ironic. She never knew how much she had changed until she was forced to regress into that harder, darker Irina. Just twice today she had caught Sark staring at her with a curious glint in his eyes, as if he were seeing a stranger. 

It was getting dangerous. 

Dropping the bag, Irina finally exhaled, turning into the living room when she suddenly froze, heart thudding against her chest in one hard, powerful beat. 

Immediately she had the gun cocked, swiveling in one fluid move to pin the intruder in its sight. 

It was no intruder. 

"Jack," she whispered. 

Or rather, his ghost. The man before her was pale, gloved hands holding a gun aimed straight for her heart. 

Frozen in mid-movement, Irina could not yet drop her weapon, instead utterly transfixed with the image of the man before her. Throat dry, she could barely rasp her greeting, finding his figure grow increasingly blurry in her eye-sight. 

"Oh, God, Jack-" 

The gun dropped to the ground, and she stepped over it, ready to go to him when he only held his own gun more steadily. Clipped on top was a silencer. 

She did not dare take another step. Suddenly unsure, Irina swallowed, glancing from the gun to his eyes. They were dark, angry – hateful. 

"Jack, what are you-" 

"I swore, Irina," he began. His tone was unfamiliar. It was ragged. Broken. "I swore that I would never trust you again. And I DID. I DID-" 

Oh, Lord... he had heard- 

Licking her lips carefully, Irina's fists relaxed, heart beat slowing to a soft, rhythmic pulse. "Jack, you must listen to me. Whatever Sydney told you-" 

"You're WITH THEM, Irina!" 

"You're wrong," she answered evenly, adopting a low, soothing tone. His emotion, previously locked away, now seemed to overwhelm him, as the gun shook slightly in his palm. "Jack, I'm with you." 

"Shut up-" 

"Jack, you must listen to me. The Covenant was behind Sydney's disappearance. I found no other leads. I had no choice but to infiltrate-" 

"Shut up-" He stepped forward, eyes now watering, so much pain in his broken soul that Irina nearly wept for him. 

"Jack, please. I love you. I love our daughter. Becoming one of them was the only way to truly understand what they did to her." 

Slowly, she took a step forward. His eyes flickered down at the movement, the gun once again held steady as he swallowed hard. 

"Don't." 

"There was no other way, Jack. I had no choice-" 

"I don't believe you!" The dark, hoarse shout tore from his throat, a desperate plea from a desperate man. 

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. She took another step forward. "Jack, I couldn't tell you. I couldn't find you! You never contacted me, and for so long it was simply too dangerous!" 

"I should kill you for the pain you've caused her," he whispered. 

Two feet away seemed a chasm. The gun now pressed directly against her chest, and Irina let it stay there. Thirty years, and it had come to this. 

So be it. 

If she would die by anyone's hands, she would rather it be Jack's. 

"If you feel you must, then kill me, Jack. I will not stop you." Jack Bristow's eyes were moist, his face contorted in a desperate, passionate expression, as he openly struggled to pull the trigger. Perfectly still, she allowed it. "But if you loved me at all in the past three years. Not Laura Bristow, me. If you loved me at all, then this is the moment then you must trust me. I have not earned it, but I ask for it all the same." 

The cry of rage that fell from his lips forced her eyes closed, and she took a ragged breath, waiting for the inevitable. 

It never came. 

Slowly, her eyes drifted open to discover the gun now lowering, Jack shaking his head, visible emotion crossing over his face as it fell with a clatter to the floor. 

Oh, God... 

She could not fight the smile, the tears as they slipped freely. Her palms gently reached for his shaking body, smoothing up the rough stubble of his cheek. "It's allright, darling..." 

"Irina..." 

Fingers curled around her fists, and with a rough pull, she was forced into his arms, locked in a desperate embrace as his mouth settled on hers hungrily. 

She released a choked moan, sobbing slightly as she opened her lips, felt him invade with a possessive tongue, and she sucked it in gladly. 

When he finally released her lips for no other reason but the need to breathe, she was firmly wrapped in his hold, forehead resting against his as she gasped raggedly, heartbeat pounding. 

"I've missed you," he whispered thickly, tangling fingers into her hair, eyelashes tickling against her cheek. "I love you so much, Irina-" 

Even as her heart burst, she had no time to respond, because his lips once again found hers, plundering her mouth in a desperate confirmation of his feelings. 

-- 

"Owww..." 

He paused in his ministrations, tossing her a concerned glance. "Does that hurt?" 

Arching an eyebrow incredulously, Irina responded, "No, I simply said 'ow' because it felt appropriate, what with you sticking a finger into my wound and all that loveliness." 

"You're not funny." 

"Mmm... You just don't understand my humor." The sheet once again slipped, and Irina finally gave up trying to hold it to her chest. Letting it fall to her waist, she craned her neck, hissing slightly as Jack continued to prod the wound. "Do you mind?" 

He glanced at her bared breasts, and with a small smile dancing on his lips, he turned his attention back to the reddened skin of her arm. "Not at all. I like the view better this way." 

"Pig." 

He waggled an eyebrow like a Marx brother, and she couldn't help but laugh. 

Frowning slightly, he felt for the light gauze next to the bed. "Syd?" 

"No, Weiss," she responded, content to merely watch. 

He paused, looking up. "You let Weiss shoot you?" 

For some reason she got that by doing so she had just slipped in his estimation. "I'm not quite sure I LET him. At the moment I was attempting to outrun my daughter, steal a high priced diamond, keep Sark from killing them both, and running in three inch stiletto heels." 

"That's no excuse." 

"You didn't see the heels." She smiled. "Ah well. Then I must be getting old." 

"You're getting more beautiful every day," he retorted back. She managed a smile, carefully caressing his jaw before settling back on the bed. 

"Thank you." 

He nodded, wrapping the last of the dressing, back straight as he stared down at her naked form. "I assume you know about Julia, then." 

Her smile faded. "Yes," she admitted. "I'm also quite aware of what you did to Simon Walker. That was stupid, Jack." 

It broke the moment. Shaking his head in an exaggerated sigh, Jack pushed from the bed. "Irina-" 

"Listen to me," she began firmly, sitting up, mouth set in a frown. "I just killed one of his men because he knew about you. Sark knew about you. Because of you, they found out about Sydney. It's all I can do to keep them from... taking an interest." 

He turned back. "Simon Walker had information regarding Julia-" 

"Yes," she snapped. "I know. That was no excuse to do what you did." 

"He deserved to die." 

"Of course he did. Everyone of them do. That's not the point." 

"Then what is your point, Irina? Because I'm still not regretting what I did." 

Closing her eyes, Irina paused, licking her lips as she tried to sort out her thoughts. 

"My point," she said finally, "Is that I was gaining his confidence, establishing his trust. Simon was impulsive and foolish, but not stupid. He was beginning to talk about her, her position with the covenant. He was telling me things, and I was getting closer to figuring it out – and then of course you shot him dead. Twice." 

Her exasperated expression, coupled with the angry pout, amused him. A smile began to tug on the corner of his lips, almost as if it was against his will. When it spread across his face, she looked away, trying hard not to get caught in his infectious enjoyment. 

The bed sank with his weight as broad hands skimmed at her bare knee. "So we have different approaches." 

"Don't flirt," she said firmly, slapping his hand away. "This is important." 

He paused. "It is. Irina, what you're doing is dangerous." 

She sighed, head falling back against the wooden head board to study him casually. "And what would you have me do? Turn myself in? I can't guard Sydney in a cell. Arvin Sloane and the covenant need to be watched. You can only do so much." 

He said nothing at first. Fingers gently pushed an angry curl away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. "She'll understand, Irina. I won't let her hate you." 

"Sydney is stubborn," she said with a grim smile. "She got it from her father." 

"Now THAT is where you're wrong." Sliding in beside her, he slipped an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he gently tipped her chin with his fingers. "Irina," he said seriously, "We'll figure this out. We'll find the key to this mess." 

They had been saying that for years now, it seemed. Were they really any closer? 

Closing her eyes, Irina gave up the doubt. Without a word, she buried herself in Jack's arms, pressing her ear to his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat thump against it. 

"When do you have to leave?" 

He ran fingertips through her long tresses, scratching gently at her scalp. 

"They don't know I'm gone. I can stay the night." 

She shifted up until they were face to face. "Good," she whispered. 

-- 

She could feel something was wrong the moment her eyes opened. 

Jack's arm was heavy around her, pinning her to his chest, while he snored lightly. 

Pushing against his chest, Irina blinked once, twice, letting it fall away from her body. 

Around her there were shadows, a dead silence in the air that was just... off somehow. 

Eyes narrowed, and softly, she began to shake her husband. "Jack..." 

"Irina..." 

"Shhh." Stock still, Irina glanced carefully over the villa, eyes sweeping the contours of the house. It was so quiet... 

Jack's eyes were now open, stock still as he watched her with open curiosity. 

"Irina-" 

"Jack, shut up." Mouth open to control her breathing, Irina let her mind go, desperately searching for the thing that was wrong. 

Suddenly she understood. It was too quiet. 

"No birds, no crickets, Jack get up!" 

"Why?" 

"We're surrounded!" 

The warning came too late. 

The door crashed through half a second later, and her safehouse was flooded with at least twenty men in black masks and rifles, all surrounding the naked couple in the bed. 

"CIA! FREEZE!" 

Irina could not look at Jack. Staring into the eyes of one operative through the black mask, she greeted him politely. 

"Mr. Weiss. Would you mind if I got dressed first?" 

--   



	8. VIII The Glass Cage

**VIII. The Glass Cage**

Déjà vu all over again. 

The room was cold, familiar. 

Irina kept her eyes closed as she sat in the corner, one knee pushed up to provide a resting place for her arm, head against the wall, lost in the art of breathing. 

When she had been here before, there had never been a question of whether or not she would get out. She had leverage, the element of surprise, underworld contacts that trusted her penchant for betrayal. 

Three years later, it was a different matter altogether. 

Now, she wondered how long it would be before her execution. 

Strangely, the thought did not fill her with any real emotion. Simple acceptance dominated the other feelings, almost as if she was not capable of feeling anything else. 

It was a defense mechanism she recognized, brought back into active use to survive her breaking heart. 

Irina. She smiled. Welcome back. 

Metal screeching loudly made her eyes flutter open, and when she laid eyes on her visitor, she couldn't help the swell of morbid amusement. 

Fitting. 

Agent Vaughn looked tired, pale, older. His mouth locked into a permanent frown as he stood stiffly just beyond the glass wall, waiting for her to come to him, no doubt. 

She would not give him the pleasure. 

Her eyes lingered on his face, drawn and angry. 

He was looking more and more like his father every day. 

Breaking into his speech with a husky, angry tone, he began quickly. "I just wanted you to know. Sydney isn't the one that turned you in. She wouldn't do that to her father." 

Irina gave him nothing. 

Her lack of response made him falter. He opened and closed his mouth, breathing in raggedly. "I led the mission. I did it for personal reasons. I won't let you hurt her any more." 

That brought a smile to her face. "You wish to protect my daughter from me?" 

"Yes." 

She burst into laughter, a crystal clear sound that was so unexpected, he took a full step back. 

"That's funny to you?" 

Shoulders shaking with mirth, she shifted on the floor, relaxing against the wall, as if he had just shared the world's greatest joke to her. 

"Just that by doing this, incarcerating her father and myself, you might have just killed her. Good for you." Vaughn was a good agent, but he would never be exceptional. The man wore his heart on his sleeve. Every emotion he felt fluttered across his face. Sydney should have warned him that betraying such weaknesses to people like her were catastrophic. 

"Tell me something, Mr. Vaughn," she continued after a moment. "Is it difficult, to see the face of the woman who murdered your father, mirrored so similarly, on the face of the woman you love?" 

He jerked back, as if someone had slapped him on the face. Unable to contain the smirk, Irina waited for his answer. 

"I'm married," he managed roughly. 

"Yes," she answered breezily. "I know." Another flinch, another smile from her. "Since I have your attention, would you care to explain something to me? I've never been able to understand the CIA's hypocrisy. Have you ever killed a man, Mr. Vaughn?" 

He didn't move. 

"Of course you have. I'm sure you seldom think about the faces of the men and women you murder. Do you consider whether or not they have a son, a daughter, a wife? A brother or a sister perhaps? Of course not. You have a job to do, if you stop to believe that they may be human, you lose your life instead. So what makes you so different than me?" 

"You can't make me even begin to understand you, Ms. Derevko." He finally lost patience. Her eyebrow quirked. It took him long enough. "I've never lived a lie! I've never abandoned your daughter!" 

The knowing smile on her face made him suddenly falter. "Is that a fact?" 

He flushed, taking another step away from the glass. "What's your point, Ms. Derevko." 

"That a person is capable of tremendous things when bound by blood and love." 

This was getting almost a little too easy. 

Vaughn's face closed, and without a word he began to move to the hallway. 

"They would have killed her." 

He froze in midstep, turmoil raging in his head of whether or not to turn back. She did not need him to. "Had I not carried out my orders to the absolutely extreme the KGB had orders to eliminate my daughter, my husband, and myself, based on grounds that I would have become a liability. Who would you have rather lost? Your father or the love of your life?" 

If he had been a dog, he would have exited with his tail between his legs. 

It was a perverse thrill, really. He had broken her daughter's heart and as a result, she had toyed with him. 

Still, it was gratifying. Less than five minutes, she had not moved an inch, and he ran from her like a little boy. 

"Well," she said finally, eyes closing to return to her breathing exercises. "That was fun." 

-- 

"You never told me that." 

Only Sydney had the capacity to surprise her. Everyone else, she could hear coming, but Sydney... 

For some reason she was always just... appeared. 

Rising from the ground, Irina wiped the sweat from her forehead, eyes on her child, who seemed so very young on the other side of the glass. 

"Sydney." 

"You never told me they would have killed us if you hadn't done what they said," she repeated again. 

Irina took in a deep breath, wiping strands that stuck on her sticky skin from her forehead. "You were perfectly safe as long as they never had a reason to question my loyalty." Coming closer, it was almost difficult to smile, so intent was the old Irina to keep herself shut away. Even at the sight of her daughter. 

Sydney's lips trembled slightly, her eyes moistened. "Mom." 

"Sydney." 

She heaved a gasp inward, glancing back at the monitor that taped their encounter and glanced back. "They're questioning Dad now. He's not being very cooperative." 

A bitter grim smile floated on Irina's face. "He's a stubborn man, Sydney. The last time this happened he succeeded in angering the NSC to the point where he was locked in solitary. You must do what you can to help him." 

Sydney's teeth sank down on her bottom lip. "He loves you." 

"No," Irina answered softly. "He loves you." Coming forward closer, she angled her face away from the camera, eyes growing cold with intensity. "Sydney answer me, do they know?" 

Her daughter's eyes widened, flittering nervously to the guard's corner. 

"Do they know?" she repeated again, harder, more firm. 

Swallowing hard, Sydney shook her head quickly. "Only the director." 

Irina breathed a minute sigh of relief. Nodding quickly, she came forward, voice a barely audible whisper. "Whatever happens, I want you to eliminate Sark at the first opportunity. He knows too much. If he is captured, he WILL trade your information for his release. He knows, Sydney. I don't know how, I was taken before I had a chance to re-earn his trust, but he is the key to getting the information from the Convenant. Do you understand?" 

Her beautiful daughter was nearly shaking in her reaction, but she nodded ungracefully. 

"Good." Stepping back, Irina kept her hands at her sides, too afraid she would give in, attempt to reach her daughter through the glass. "Then leave me. There is no hope here. Help your father." 

"Mom-" 

"NOW." 

Turning away, she did not look back at her daughter, who stood outside the glass for another minute. 

Only when the tell-tale sign of metal crashing indicated her daughter was leaving, that Irina buried her face into her hands, and wiped at her tears. 

-- 

"Mom." 

The word slurred in her grogginess, and Irina found the shaking of her shoulder most obtrusive. 

"MOM!" 

The harsher whisper prickled at her sleep, and eyes fluttering open, Irina discovered the pale face of her daughter, the rest of her blurred into the blackness of the cell. 

Sydney?! 

Sitting up quickly, Irina glanced quickly around the glass cage, to find it wide open. 

"Sydney, what are you doing?" 

"I'm getting you out of here," she answered, crouching. "The decision came from the NSC last night. They're going to take you into custody - Kendall's made it clear they're going to seek the death penalty. They'll kill you, Mom." 

Irina didn't move. 

"Sydney! We don't have much more time!" 

Jerking her head to the corner of the corridor, Irina spotted an equally darkly dressed Agent Vaughn. 

"Well... that's surprising." 

"Mom, we have to go!" 

Her daughter was close enough to touch. 

Irina smiled, reaching up to cradle Sydney's soft cheek in a loving caress. 

How was a hardened animal like herself, a numb killer who had never given any thought to anyone else in favor of her own survival, capable of feeling such love for one being? 

"Sydney," she whispered finally. "I love you, but I am not leaving this place." 

It was unexpected, to say the least. Her daughter froze, eyes widening and mouth dropping open. 

"MOM!" 

"If I leave this cell unoccupied it will only be replaced by you," she answered quietly. "I have done enough running in my life." 

"Sydney!" Vaughn ducked into the cell, motioning with a jerk of his head. "They'll wake up any second!" 

Sydney swallowed hard, teetering toward panic. "Mom," she began thickly. "Mom, you were right, okay? I need you out there protecting me, helping me find out what happened." 

"I cannot protect you that way. Your father and I were foolish. By this time the Covenant has discovered of my liaison with your father. My cover is blown. Forgive me for being prudent, but the CIA is slightly more humane about execution." 

"Mom you can't GIVE UP!" 

Irina smiled, leaning up to press a gentle kiss on the forehead of her trembling daughter's head. 

"You are my life, Sydney. Believe me when I say, I would never give up on you. And that I cannot jeopardize you this way. I love you, Sydney. Now leave me. The guards will wake up any minute." 

"SYDNEY!" 

Jerking her head back to Vaughn, her child was caught between worlds. For a moment, Irina wondered if her daughter would insist, force her to leave at gunpoint. 

"Mom..." she whispered brokenly. 

"I would not have us share a cell, or a death sentence. Tell your father I love him. And go." 

She ran out of time. Vaughn reached in, dragged her away by the arm, Sydney struck dumb by her mother's passive expression. 

Soon the glass closed in on her again, and she was left alone in the darkness. 

When guards ran in, panting and heaving, they waved flashlights on her face, and discovered a woman sitting cross-legged, glistening tears on her cheeks, wearing a sad smile. 

--   



	9. IX Judgement Day

**IX. Judgement Day**

"Ms. Derevko?" 

Bringing the book she was reading down into her lap, Irina glanced at the direction of the greeting. A handsome young man with a chubby face waved, grinning as he nodded from the other side of the glass. 

Puzzled, she nodded back. "Agent Weiss." 

"Good morning." 

Her mouth twitched, bemused at the ridiculously polite formalities. "Good morning." 

"We'd like to take you out, if you don't mind." Her eyes flickered to the eight guards standing by, all wearing glass facemasks and carrying guns. 

"And if I did?" 

He blinked. "Well, uh..." 

Shaking her head, Irina placed the book carefully beside her, wondering if it would be futile to try to mark her place. "I don't mind, Mr. Weiss. I was expecting it. Please, do come in." 

"Uh... thank you..." Nodding his head, he waited until the guards were prepared before he and four others entered her cell. 

Automatically, she adjusted her hands and feet in preparation to be cuffed. 

Agent Weiss was a gentleman, she noted. He was careful with her, gentle in his moves so that the metal would not be too tight around her skin. He was almost absurdly careful with her bandaged arm. 

"You're the one that shot me," she said suddenly. 

He looked up, suddenly turning pink at the tips of his ears at the memory. "Uh... yeah. Wound healing okay?" 

"Fine, thank you." She waited, ignoring the way the other officers exchanged glances as he carefully brought her to her feet. "And you were the one that led the raid into my house." 

He stiffened slightly, face flushing even more crimson. "Yeah, that was me." Palm directed toward the opening, he motioned. "Let's go." 

Irina took a step, before she thought better of it and turned back, regal in her posture, eyes suddenly warm. "I've been meaning to thank you for your dignity regarding the matter." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Allowing me to dress myself before you took me into custody," she explained. Smile widening, she shrugged, laughing slightly. "The whole situation was rather embarrassing, and you handled it wonderfully. Such... consideration among agents is..." she paused, considering. "Rare," she finished.   
She wasn't quite sure it was possible to get any darker shade of red than what he was at that moment. 

"Thank you," he said finally, ignoring the impatient huff and shrug from the other agents. "But to be fair, I had my reasons." 

"And they were?' 

"I respect your husband," he admitted. "I care about your daughter, and quite frankly, you scare the shit out of me." 

She could not fault him for honesty. Nodded, she smiled. "Then if that is indeed the case, I respect you all the more." 

"Thank you," he said again, more than likely unsure how to take that coming from her. "We should get going-" 

"One more thing," she said quickly. A guard behind her moaned, another grumbled underneath his breath. "I apologize gentlemen, I'm aware of the lunch hour rapidly approaching, but Mr. Weiss... I believe that I can safely assume I will not be returning to this room?" 

His open expression froze, and she detected a hard swallow bobbing its way down his throat. 

"I think," he said after a moment. "That it is safe to assume that, yes." 

She nodded, smiling tightly. "In that case, I must request a favor. The book I was reading. If you could give it to my daughter, I would be... grateful." 

He stared at her a second longer than necessary, mouth pursed, indicating he was remembering something. "Sure." 

"It's the Three Musketeers," she continued, answering his unspoken question. 

It took a second to process, before Mr. Weiss understood. A bittersweet smile grew on his face. "Interesting choice." 

She shrugged sheepishly. "I admit I find the characters, one in particular, rather fascinating." The response kept him immobile, as if for the first time, he found her to be a person. "We can go now," she prompted. 

"Right, right." Taking her by the crook of the elbow, he motioned to the guards, leading her out of her glass cage. 

"Mr. Weiss?" 

"Yes, Ms. Derevko?" 

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, her sincerity was unmistakable. "I'm grateful my daughter has a friend who cares for her so deeply." 

-- 

"Can I offer you something? Tea? Coffee?" 

Rubbing around her wrists, Irina focused on getting the circulation going in her skin. 

"Tea will be fine, thank you." 

Mr. Dixon nodded shortly, pushing back from the front of the desk and rounding the corner, directing his steel gaze to a young lady waiting in the doorway. 

"Lemon all right?" he asked after a moment. 

Irina's eyes narrowed, small smirk floating on her face. "Perfect." 

"Lemon tea," he ordered to the young assistant, as if she hadn't been in the room and heard the entire conversation. 

"Right away," she said immediately, moving out of his office and closing the door behind her. 

Irina craned her neck, studying the closed door before turning back to find Dixon holding out a plate. 

"Cookies? My daughter made them." 

At the moment she was too bewildered to do anything but stare at them. 

He shrugged. "I'll just set them here in case you change your mind." Placing the cookies down on the desk beside him, he gave her a grim nod. "I expect this must be slightly disorienting to you." 

Her eyebrow arched further. 

"Slightly," she replied dryly. "To be perfectly frank I expected an execution chair or at the very least the back of a black truck, Not..." she motioned to the cookies. "Dessert." 

Dixon, director of the CIA, uncrossed his arms, moving around his desk to the chair on the other side. 

"To be perfectly frank right back," he answered, settling into his large plush leather seat, "So did I. Something's come up." 

Eyes narrowing in open confusion, Irina said nothing. Crossing legs and arms, she waited for his explanation. 

"Early this morning we received a message of sorts from a group I assume you're familiar with, The Covenant." Tossing a folder across the desk, he motioned for her to pick it up. Her blank stare was met with a nod. "Go on." 

Sighing loudly, she took it, opening it up. The first item was an 8' by 10' photo of a young, happy looking man. 

"That's our tech, Marshall. He's a nice guy, with many, many social problems. He's just had a child, a little girl." 

Irina's mouth tightened. "I assume this has a point." 

He nodded, face drawn. "Earlier we received a message from Mr. Sark, who informed us that he has Agent Marshall in his possession and will not hesitate to take his life should we not agree to trade your release, for his." 

The folder fell from her fingers, mouth opening in surprise. 

"Mr. Marshall holds significant value to us, but we have been 'advised' by the NSC not to negotiate with the Covenant. They would like us to cut our losses and move on." 

She glanced down at the photo of the young man. "Would you like my opinion?" 

"If you're inclined to give it." 

"The NSC is correct. You should not negotiate under any terms with them. They are capable of much more than you think." Her answer surprised him, but to his credit, he took it in stride, biting on the edge of a pencil with his teeth, considering the answer. 

"If I give you to the NSC, they will execute you," he said frankly. 

"I'm aware of that. But if you continue to release prisoners to them they will start believing it is the precedent, and as my daughter is an agent of yours, as is my husband when he's not incarcerated, I would rather they not start kidnapping at will." Dixon's eyes bore into hers. 

"Interesting argument," he said finally. 

Irina smiled. "There is no reason you should trust me," she said finally. "I'm very well aware of that. But you are aware of the circumstances of my capture as well as the reasons behind it. In this instance, my actions speak the truth. I will protect my daughter and my husband at all costs." 

"Marshall has a daughter too," Dixon said pointedly. 

"As do you," she clipped. He didn't respond. Taking a breath, she finally nodded. "I know where they are keeping him. I can tell you how to get in, how to rescue him, and get him out safely." 

"Let it be formally known that the CIA has more than enough reason NOT to trust you, Ms. Derevko." 

"Then send Sydney," she clipped. "You know as well as I that I would not send my daughter to her death." 

Dixon pursed his lips. Dropping the pencil with a clatter on the notepad, he tangled his fingers together, speaking crisply. "Sydney Bristow and her team are ready for the extraction, pending your instructions to take place tonight. If it is successful, we will proceed with the following plan: Arvin Sloane has spun the circumstances of your capture to the Covenant. They believe you had taken Jack hostage and were torturing him for information regarding the whereabouts of the diamond when we caught up with you. What they will continue to believe, is that you are loyal to them. We will attempt the transport to the NSC as scheduled, but you will escape." 

She quirked an eyebrow. "I will?" 

Flickering his eyes to meet her surprised expression, he nodded shortly. "You will. We have delayed your transfer until tomorrow. After which you will partner with Mr. Sloane in continuing to infiltrate the Covenant, and provide us with intel." 

Irina took a cookie, crumbling it distractedly in her fingertips as she considered what he was saying. 

"You're recruiting me." 

"Thanks to you, Ms. Derevko, I have incarcerated one of my best agents, AGAIN, and another swore she would abandon the Agency and join Sloane in a murder free for all if I did not do everything in my power to save your life." He settled back in his chair. "What I am proposing is dangerous, and it will most likely kill you. But it is the best I can do. I hate to admit it, Mrs. Bristow, but your daughter is as crazy as you are." 

She almost smiled. He knew then, the weaknesses that had plagued her now placed her in a situation where the CIA considered her almost an asset. 

Irina Derevko could be controlled by her weaknesses. 

That was a dangerous thing. 

Looking up, she dropped the cookie back on the plate. "I have one condition." 

-- 

"Intel has instructed Sloane to leak to Sark that we will be transporting you by the deserted monastery at exactly 0800 hours. They should be by roughly ten minutes before, during which you will have already slipped out of your cuffs, and 'killed' those inside." Jack Bristow paused, eyebrow arching as he gave her a meaningful glare. 

Irina bowed her head contritely, fighting the smirk on her face. "I understand. Make it look real, but don't have fun with it." 

"Have fun with it, don't kill anyone," he corrected. 

"Well now you are just being unreasonable." Given another patented Jack glare, she shook her head, nodding for him to continue, watching him pace around her cell. 

"They should pick you up, take you with them. Assuming they bought it." Jack rubbed a hand over the top of his head, a nervous tick he had she couldn't believe she still remembered. Flipping through the papers in the file, he located what he was looking for. "You will be contacted by your handler with an ad in the personals section of the London Globe." Her chin came off her palm, eyes widening when he gave her a wicked smile. "Thought you might get a kick out of that." 

"Yes," she replied dryly. "It's always lovely to get hit on by every man on the street when he sees you looking through the personals section of the London Globe." 

"And of course you will contact them the same way." 

"I'm curious," she said suddenly, swinging her leg like a small child, eyes focused thoughtfully on the ceiling. "What did the NSC have to say about all this?" 

"Well, they weren't happy. Thankfully, however, we did have one member with ties to a US Senator who managed to smooth things over." 

"Oh?" 

"Agents Vaughn's wife was more than willing to overrule Kendall when it became apparent that her husband may or may not have attempted a break-in and rescue." 

Her shoulders shook slightly as she chuckled, relaxing against the wall as he shrugged innocently. "Our daughter is smart," she admitted proudly. 

"Too smart," he answered. "We're supposed to be protecting her and here she is, trying to save us." 

"Yes," she said, drawing a finger through her hair. "There is that." Looking up, she cleared her throat, preferring to move the conversation away from Sydney, when a thought hit her. Irina considered, a slight skip in her heart coinciding with her statement, "Who will be my handler?" 

Jack sighed, a disappointing shake of his head creating a bitter feeling inside of her, as he moved across the cell to sink down beside her. "It won't be me. I'm sorry. They don't quite trust us together yet." 

It made perfect sense. 

She gave a mechanic nod, reaching for his hand, tangling the fingers together, holding them tight. Covering her smaller digits with his, Jack drew them into his lap, lightly tracing the skin with his fingertips before bringing them to his mouth, pressing a light kiss on her palm. 

"And young Marshall?" she said curiously, breaking the silence. "How is he?" 

"He's recovering. Sydney says we actually did him a favor. He's ecstatic." 

She laughed incredulously. "Over getting kidnapped and tortured?" 

Jack's smile was a little more reluctant, bemused as he explained, "Well, his near death experience has finally given the mother of his daughter the proper boost to 'think about marriage'. He's calling the caterer as we speak." 

The image was enough to bring out another peal of laughter, before she fell silent once more, watching as he caressed her digits, focused on sliding his fingers alongside hers, gentle and deliberate. 

"You're worried about me." 

"Yes," he said automatically. 

"Don't be," she said gently, using her free hand to finger the curls above his ear, fondly scratching across his scalp with a soft rake of her nails. "I'll be fine." 

"You'll be alone," he said gruffly. 

He was an absurdly handsome man. Regal and imposing, dominating and proud. There were so many faults to him, but for some reason, putting them all together achieved something extraordinary, amazing - as if there was never another person in this world who could be exactly like him. 

And her child, her child was from HIM. 

"Not really," she answered. "I would know. I was alone for twenty years." 

--   
  



	10. X The Double Agent

**X. The Double Agent**

She wasn't wearing heels. In this instance, that was by and large a good thing. 

Gritting her teeth, Irina sucked in another lungful of air, exhaling quickly as she quickened her pace, nearly skidding along the corner of the darkened tunnel, holstering the gun and slamming against the wall. 

Breathing heavily, she waited, ears straining to hear the pounding of footsteps racing in her direction. 

The blonde and black blur jerked around the corner, and without a moment's hesitation, she reached out, grasped a dark shoulder, and slammed the agent into the wall. 

"Why do they keep sending you out on field assignments?" she snapped. "Do you realize this is the fifth time we've caught you?" 

Agent Vaughn wore a thin film of sweat over his face, causing the skin to glisten in the buzzing, barely working fluorescent lights. He gasped hard, doubling over in an effort to regain his breath, rolling his eyes to the back of his head when he finally straightened. "Okay, first of all? The first two times weren't even you. And secondly: Do you REALLY think that right now is the time to discuss this?" 

Irina flattened herself next to the wall, quickly reaching into her pants pocket and pulling out an extra round of ammunition. 

"Give me your gun," she whispered, taking it from his outstretched hand, craning her neck to glance quickly around the corner. "How far away were they?" 

"No more than a hundred feet." She frowned, closing her eyes and nodding. "Oh yeah, and by the way?" Vaughn's harsh whisper broke into her ear. "Can we discuss how realistic your method of torture should be? Because I almost passed out back there." 

Her glance was incredulous. "My daughter stabbed you, threw you down a hill, and left you for dead, and yet you have a problem with a little knock on the head from me?" 

"You hit me with a wrench!" 

"Shut up, Michael." Glancing down the darkened hallway, she heard the faint pounding of racing footsteps, and finally made her decision. "One hundred feet south, then make a right. Through the sewers until you hit the fifth manhole. Once outside, step into the little café. Sloane will meet you there. Do you understand?" 

The Agent's brow furrowed, nodding breathlessly. "Yes." 

"Good. Now." He broke into a run, and immediately, Irina raised her automatic, shooting out the lights until she was left in pitch darkness. 

The racing foosteps immediately faltered as they came closer, a British voice that had to be henchmen number one cursing into the darkness. 

"Bloody, hell! Bastard shot out the lights!" 

She smiled, sinking down to the concrete floor, and setting the gun down where they would find it. 

"F*ck. Irina's gonna be pissed. She was having fun torturing that bloke." 

She smiled, closing her eyes to suck in her breath. Well, she admitted. Yes, she was. 

"Well, I'm not gonna tell her we lost him." 

"Well, I'm not gonna!" 

"Flip you for it?" 

"Yeah, allright. Call it." 

"Heads." 

"Tails." 

"Damn. Two out of three?" 

Shuddering, Irina moved quickly into the darkness, away from her fighting men, and into the door on the right, stepping into the covered walkway, shedding clothes as she went. 

She had less than five minutes to sneak back into her bathroom, before her guard would be suspicious of the shower still running. 

Thankfully, she was glad for the cover. 

She was sweating profusely. 

-- 

"And of the Agent?" 

Very real frustration crossed over Irina's face, shrugging in exasperation as she slipped into the chair beside HIM. "I left the room when you called me. In that time he somehow managed to escape." 

HE narrowed his eyes in gross contemplation, idly caressing the silver ring that featured prominently on his left hand, third finger. 

"Haf you discussed zis vith them?" he asked, thick accent rolling the words dangerously across his tongue. 

Irina Derevko nodded shortly, twirling the pen in her fingers as her figure straightened. "Of course." 

"And?" 

Her mouth twitched, a secret smile slipping over her features as she met his glance with a humorless drawl, "I'm afraid they did not live long enough for me to be satisfied with their explanation." 

HE studied her, letting that sink in. Erupting in laughter, rough fingers covered hers, patting them affectionately, opening his mouth around her index finger, sucking it in. 

The revulsion nearly exposed her. Clucking her tongue, she smiled, patting his hand in recrimination and slowly drawing the finger out of his mouth. 

"You are naughty, -----" she told HIM. "We have discussed business and pleasure." 

"Yes," HE admitted. "I do not respect a woman I sleep with, and you Irina, I respect you explicitly." 

"I am honored to have that respect," she said crisply. "And I apologize for my mistake. I let him go." 

"You did no such thing," HE said, shaking his head. "You put too much blame on yourself, Irina." 

"No," she sighed heavily. "I have betrayed you, ----. I did let him go." 

"Nonsense. It is my fault. Those soldiers are incompetent. I gave him to you because I thought you might enjoy it." 

"I did enjoy it," she concurred. 

HE smiled. "Yes. I vas watching. But enough with petty revenge. You deserve better than to deal with these foolish boys. I haf a better job for you. You are special, Irina. One of a kind." 

Irina was inclined to disagree, but she took the compliment with grace, sitting with the serpent in his lair, trapped in a world where her capacity for cruelty was far more admired than any mothering instincts she may have harbored. 

This Irina? She was a monster. But she was nothing compared to HIM. 

"I would say the same about you." 

The small, pleased smile on her face grew when he smiled back, taking the flute of wine he offered and sipping it demurely. 

Nodding, he motioned with his hand, suddenly all business. 

"I have sent Sark ahead of you, to set up ze plan." 

Putting down the flute, Irina tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, crossing her legs at the ankle, face hard and vindictive. 

"Tell me what to do." 

-- 

Fleeting glimpses hardly defined a marriage. 

Irina Derevko never wore a wedding ring. She saw her husband, if she was lucky, perhaps once every three months. Each time she parted ways with him, she always wondered if it would be the last time she would touch his lips, the last time she would see his face. 

It resulted in a violently passionate relationship, coming together in an explosion of touches, kisses, grunts and murmurs of love. 

Afterwards, for whatever time she had left, she would lie with him, and talk about Sydney. 

They were her greatest weakness. 

There was a harder, colder part of Irina that whispered in her thoughts, dominated her will and her mind. For so long she had listened, counted on her darker self. That aspect kept her alive, existing as slowly, bit by bit, her humanity leaked out. 

She knew that the Agency did not trust it. No one could truly understand why the devil in angel's clothing, suddenly became a guardian angel in Lucifer's guise. When questioned in the aftermath of the first successful mission, Jack Bristow's only explanation was a clipped, 'Never underestimate the love for a daughter'. 

It would kill her some day. 

Irina paused, glancing around the abandoned ice rink as she stepped down onto the slippery white, careful to keep her balance on the wetness. 

Blades clicking shifted her focus to a young woman on the other side of the rink, stepping down onto the ice, casually dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. 

Irina smiled, eyes suddenly burning in familiar emotion as she skidded, struggling to keep from falling as she moved forward as quickly as she could. 

It would kill her, some day. But it was worth it. 

Sydney, skating easily in her hockey blades, had gained a dangerous momentum. 

"I can't stop!" she suddenly shrieked, and mother and daughter crashed to the ground in an unflattering heap, Sydney's crystal laughter making the bruising ache of Irina's jaw absolutely inconsequential. 

Irina laughed, hand to her chest to catch her breath as she lay on the cold ice, breath coming forth in smoky tufts, mimicking those of her daughter. 

"Oww," Sydney moaned beside her. "Sorry, Mom." 

"Believe it or not, I've had worse." Pushing up to her waist with her elbows, she turned to inspect her daughter, smile fading at the reddish scab and the fade of a bruise on her left cheekbone. "Oh, Sydney..." Tipping her chin, Irina carefully fingered the wound, ignoring Sydney's hiss. "What happened." 

"Korea," she said automatically. 

"Who won?" Irina asked flatly. 

"Duh. Me." 

"Good girl." 

Sydney shrugged humbly, small smile slipping onto her face before it faded just as quickly. "Hey! What happened to you?" 

Touching gently at a tender area on her forehead, Irina winced slightly, pushing her daughter's hand away. "It's nothing." 

"Korea?" 

"Tokyo." 

Sydney pursed her lips. "Who won?" 

"Your mother." 

"Go, Mom!" 

Never quite sure how to respond to Sydney's sudden lapses into American slang, Irina pushed to her feet, hands out to help her daughter up. "Come on. Your friend Vaughn, is he allright?" 

"Oh, he's fine," Sydney said, forced carelessness coloring her tone as a soft blush suddenly rose to her cheekbones. "Actually, he made a comment in his report that you used 'excessive force' while you were torturing him." 

"Excessive force?!" Irina paused, wide-eyed. 

"Yeah. I told him that I knifed him and rolled him down the hill, and he whined less." 

"That is exactly what I told him!" 

"That's more or less what he said," Sydney grinned. The smile faltered slightly when her mother squeezed. 

"Is it getting easier between the two of you?" 

Sydney considered, and finally tossed a tight smile in her direction. "It's not getting harder." 

Carefully rearranging an errant bang on her daughter's forehead, Irina nodded slightly. 

"Do not lose faith, Sydney. Sometimes things do not work out the way we expect them to, no matter how hard we try to manipulate our feelings." 

Sydney studied her for a moment, letting that sink in, before she blurted out, "Yeah, but Dad didn't marry a blonde chick with a pseudo British accent!" 

The outburst had Irina fighting to keep the smile from creasing her face. "No, but he did try to kill me. Twice- no- three- no- four times. Was it four times?" 

Sydney smile was sheepish. "Five." 

"Five, thank you." 

"You seen him yet?" She asked, curling an arm around her waist as they headed unsteadily to the edge of the rink. 

"Not this time," Irina said. "It was dangerous enough for you." 

Sydney's eyes were so much like her father's. They gave their worry away instantly. "You know he has trouble sleeping when you miss your rendezvous," she said quietly. "He misses you." 

"I miss him too," Irina said quietly. "Both of you." 

"Yeah...I kinda miss you too, Mom." 

Irina licked her lips, unable to say much in response to that. With a gentle touch, she carefully wiped away a particle of dust from her daughter's cheek. 

Sydney blew out her breath, glancing around the rink. Regretfully, she glanced at her watch. "We're running out of time." 

It was never long enough. 

"Yes," she agreed immediately. "All right. You received the ad?" 

"Yeah, I got it." 

Irina shoved her hands in her pockets, gazing over the empty rink before returning to lock eyes with her handler. 

"What is my counter mission?" 

_fin_   



End file.
